Tricked Again
by Evie McFarland
Summary: Reid thought he had made a new friend; that is, until he finds himself drugged and tied up in their basement.
1. Chapter 1

_*I don't own criminal minds, or any of the characters, or anything like that. Less violent than my other story, if you've read it- as in, no children will be murdered. It seemed to offend people last time. But there still might be character death; I haven't decided yet; so considered yourself warned. Rated T for the later chapters, subject to change, I don't know yet.*_

"Well, Reid, are you coming?"

Reid swiveled around in his chair and came face to face with Morgan. He paused for a moment, contemplating.

"Coming where?"

Morgan let out a huff of irritation. "Were you listening to anything I was saying?"

Reid turned back around, away from Morgan, "Sorry, I was thinking."

"Apparently. We're all going over to my place for drinks. You in?"

"Ah…sorry," Reid said quickly, "I have plans."

"Plans? With who?"

_With my couch and my pajamas. _"Well…I'm just busy, that's all," Reid muttered evasively. In all honestly, he was exhausted and just wanted to go home; he had been working since five in the morning, and he needed to get away from _people_ for a little while.

"No, you're not," Morgan said sharply, "Come on, Reid. You need to have some fun once in awhile. I'll even give you a ride."

Reid didn't understand why everyone assumed he didn't have fun at home. But then again, he didn't want to hurt Morgan's feelings. "Well, alright," he muttered at the floor, reaching for his bag.

"Wow, don't sound so excited, kid," Morgan said sarcastically. Reid shrugged and followed Morgan out into the parking lot, rubbing his head. It had been hurting more than usual today.

He got into the passenger seat and sighed, staring despondently at the dashboard ahead of him. It was going to be a long night. And he was missing Star Trek. And he hadn't written to his mother. And he'd only had one cup of coffee today.

"Kid, you're acting like I'm about to force-feed you nails."

"No…I'm really excited. It's going to be fun." Reid tried to pump enthusiasm into his voice but failed miserably. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I'm a little tired."

"You mean your head hurts?" Morgan asked casually as they pulled out of the parking lot.

"Yeah…a bit," Reid murmured. "I only had one cup of coffee today," he added as an afterthought.

Morgan snorted. "So you're going through caffeine withdrawal, is that it?"

Reid shrugged. "Actually, caffeine withdrawal can be pretty serious. It's been known to lead to headaches, obviously, but also depression, vomiting, insomnia-"

"Insomnia?" Morgan raised his eyebrows. "That doesn't make any sense."

"No, it's true, there have been studies, actually 76 percent of people who normally consume-"

"Okay, okay, I believe you," Morgan said quickly.

There was a silence.

"I don't drink _that_ much coffee," Reid said, simply for something to say.

"Yes, you do, and it's not good for you," Morgan chastised, although his tone was joking. Even so, Reid felt a small frown creeping onto his face. Everyone seemed to know what was and wasn't good for him.

"Hmm," Reid muttered, for lack of anything else to say. They sat there in silence for the rest of the ride, each immersed in their own thoughts.

They arrived at the house long before anyone else; Reid sat awkwardly on the couch while Morgan went into the kitchen to get drinks and snacks.

After everyone else arrived, it got very loud. Reid just reclined against the sofa, refusing to take off his sunglasses despite everyone's protests. Finally, after an hour or two of him sitting there silently, everyone had apparently had enough.

"Alright, Reid," Emily snapped, turning towards him, "What would _you _rather be doing?"

Reid blinked, although they couldn't see, and turned to frown at her. "What do you mean?"

"You look like you're in physical pain. Are we boring you? What would you rather be doing right now?"

Sleeping. Sitting at home, with ice cream and ibuprofen. "I'm sorry," Reid muttered, "I should go. I didn't mean to ruin everyone's fun." Despite the protests, and Emily's apologies, Reid quickly got to his feet and made his way towards the door.

It was at this point that he realized he did not have a car.

"Reid, sit down!" Garcia's voice called from behind him.

Reid didn't want to. The subway was only a mile or two away. He closed the door behind him and stepped out into the cool air, letting out a sigh of relief.

"Reid!" Morgan's voice came to him from inside the house, and his older colleague jogged outside. "You know she was just giving you a hard time," Morgan assured him. "She didn't mean to-"

Reid cut in. "It's not that; I don't feel well; I shouldn't have come. Tell Emily I'm not angry, or upset, or hurt, or anything, but I really need to get home." With that, he turned around and began walking down the street.

It was true; he _shouldn't _have gone. He had enough trouble socializing when he was feeling normal; his headaches made it downright impossible.

As he made his way down the street, he began to feel slightly better; the cool, autumn air was doing wonders for his headache, and he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he walked.

"Dr. Reid!"

Reid wanted to moan aloud; who was it, and what the hell did they want?

It was a very young man; he was very thin, with an abundance of messy brown hair falling into his face. "Dr. Reid!" he called again, waving his hand higher. Reid gave him a weak smile and a small wave.

"Hi," the man said breathlessly, finally catching up to him. "I go to Georgetown. You gave a lecture there last week. I wanted to ask you a question, but everyone else was asking, and then you left right afterwards, and I saw you just now, so I thought, maybe, I could…" the man trailed off, putting an end to his rambling. "My name is Tucker," he said, offering a hand.

Reid shook it politely, thinking that he looked a bit old to be going to college. "Nice to meet you, Tucker," he replied. Now that he thought about it, he _did_ remember him. "Second row to the back, on the left," Reid said suddenly.

Tucker looked ecstatic. "That's right! You remembered…I'm just walking back from work, I work at that restaurant over there-" He turned around and pointed over his shoulder. "Where are you headed?"

Reid swallowed. "Oh…I was just headed home."

"Haven't you got a car?"

Reid laughed. "Yes. But I took the subway here."

"Do you need a ride home?" Tucker was practically trembling with excitement by this point. "I have a car. I parked it in the garage over there."

Reid contemplated. The last time a kid had come to talk to him on the street, he had turned out to be a potential serial killer. "That's alright, Tucker," he said, "It's not that far a walk."

Tucker's face fell. "Oh, alright," he said. Reid instantly felt guilty. Tucker reminded him a bit of himself when _he_ was in college.

"Maybe we could get a cup of coffee?" Reid offered suddenly, "And you could ask me some of those questions you had."

Tucker's face lit up. "Really?" he asked.

Reid instantly regretted his words. What had happened to going home? "Well only…only if you wanted to," Reid muttered, gritting his teeth.

"Oh, that's great! There's a coffee shop right around the corner, it's the best, I'll show you." Reluctantly, Reid followed a jabbering Tucker down the street, wondering if he really was masochistic after all.

"That's when I explained to him that he had misquoted Becker," Tucker was saying as the waitress came by with their coffee. _"The Denial of Death_ was the name of the book, and Terror Management was the _theory._"

Reid laughed loudly, surprised that a Georgetown professor would make such a stupid mistake. He was enjoying himself much more than he'd been expecting, and the coffee was beginning to make his headache go away.

"So what year are you in Georgetown?" Reid asked.

"Fourth," Tucker said with a determined air, "I'm ready to graduate; my major is in philosophy. I know, I know, I'll never get a job," he said, waving his hands dismissively.

Reid laughed. "At least you're an interesting conversationalist," he remarked.

Tucker shrugged. "True."

Reid hesitated for a moment, then asked, "How old are you?"

Tucker smiled, but also looked a bit uncomfortable. "Twenty-eight," he said, "I entered college late."

Reid frowned. "Why?" Then he realized that this might be considered a personal question, and replied, "Sorry."

"No, it's alright," Tucker said. "I went to college when I was eighteen; like everyone else; but I had to drop out after the first semester. My mom got sick, so I went home to take care of her."

Reid was instantly seized by guilt. "Oh," was all he said, before leaning forward to take a sip of his coffee. Tucker had dropped out of college to take care of his mother; Reid had sent _his _mother to a sanitarium.

Tucker looked rather unhappy now, fiddling with his napkin and biting his lip. His eyes were glued to the table.

"My mom is schizophrenic," Reid blurted out before he could stop himself.

Tucker frowned, and looked up at him with a wide mouth. "Really?"

"I…yeah. I sent her to a mental hospital when I turned eighteen. I think it's…" he trailed off. "I think it's amazing that you would leave college to stay home to take care of your mother. You're a better man than me."

Tucker's face turned red. "No, don't be ridiculous," he said, but he looked rather pleased. "And...my mom didn't have a mental illness. She had skin cancer." He paused. "She died a few years ago, so I went back to college."

"I'm sorry," Reid said. Tucker just shrugged.

Tucker stared despondently at the tablecloth for several more moments before Reid started talking again about philosophy, and this seemed to perk him up. They chatted amiably for the rest of the evening and well into the night, long after they had both finished their coffees.

Finally, Reid stood up. "I really have to go home," he said.

Tucker got up, too. "Let me give you a ride," he said, grinning. "It'll be faster."

Reid eventually consented; besides, it could be risky to use the subway this late at night. Tucker insisted on paying for the coffee; which had cost a total of four dollars and sixty cents; and they started towards his car. "You know," Reid said, "I was supposed to spend the night with some colleagues from my team…but I had more fun with you."

Reid doubted Tucker's grin could have gotten any wider. He unlocked the doors and walked around to the driver's side while Reid got into the passenger's seat.

"My house isn't that far," Reid said, ducking his head so as not to hit the roof of the car. He heard Tucker get in behind him. "Just a couple of miles." He reached out to close the door; and that was when he felt the strangest pricking sensation at the back of his neck; like a needle.

Reid froze up in panic. "Tucker?" he asked, turning around to look at the other man; but everything was already going blurry.

"Don't worry," Tucker said, his grin not fading, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "We're going to keep having fun."

_This is typical, _Reid thought to himself, slumping against the seat. He tried to reach for the door, but his hand wouldn't move; he could feel the car starting as his eyes blinked closed, and he slowly slipped into unconsciousness.

_*So…yep, Reid is in trouble again. Poor guy. Review please and tell me whether or not you like it so far.*_


	2. Chapter 2

_*Thanks a ton to anyone who reviewed! You people are awesome. I hope everyone likes this chapter.*_

There was a knock on his door.

"We have a case," JJ said, peering into Hotch's office. "Montana." There was a silence as Hotch finished up the last of his paperwork. "Hello?" she called.

"Right. Sorry. I'm coming." Hotch closed the case file and immediately got to his feet.

They were all gathered in the conference room in a matter of minutes; well, except for…

"Where's Reid?" Morgan asked, raising his eyebrows.

Emily looked concerned. "I hope I didn't offend him _that_ much…"

"Relax, Emily, Reid wouldn't skip work because of _that_," Hotch said dismissively. "For now, we'll start without him."

After they had finished discussing the case, they all prepared to board the plane; a teenage girl was missing and she might only have forty-eight hours to live. They weren't about to waste time.

Hotch called Reid; three times. Morgan called him; Garcia called him; nothing.

"We don't have time for this," Hotch snapped eventually. "We're leaving in five minutes, with or without Reid."

Five minutes passed; they boarded the plane. They departed, everyone agitated and exhausted.

Meanwhile, Reid was just waking up.

He let out a comforted sigh; his headache was completely gone. He had obviously gotten a very good night's sleep. He yawned and tried to stretch his arms; but something stopped them.

Reid frowned, again trying to pull his arms apart; but something was in the way. Reluctantly, Reid forced his eyes open.

His wrists were handcuffed together.

_What did I _do _last night?_ Reid wondered, panicking. He moved his head from side to side; he was in a relatively comfortable bed. He sat up. He tried to get out of the bed, but then he realized that his ankles were chained to the bedposts.

Well, this wasn't good.

Then it all came back to him.

He sat up taller, looking around; he was in a basement, which was empty save for a small television, a bathroom on his right, and the bed that he was currently situated on.

"Tucker!" Reid called drowsily, then realized that it probably wasn't even his "friend's" real name. He sighed. This was his own fault, anyways, for thinking he'd met someone who he got along with so easily.

"Tucker!" Reid called again, for lack of anything else to do. "Tucker! Hello? Someone! Help!"

He kept this up for several minutes before giving up, and looking around the room once again. There were no windows; that could mean that the basement was underground. He moved his legs again, testing how far he could move; not very far. He couldn't even make it off of the bed.

It was at this point that he heard a door opening from upstairs. Anxiously, Reid peered up at the man who entered.

"Tucker," Reid said, as soon his face came into view. "Why are you doing this?"

Tucker didn't answer; he looked very excited. "You slept a long time," he said. "Do you feel rested?"

Reid glared at him. "Let me go," he commanded.

Tucker frowned. "No! We're going to have a lot of fun. You get to meet our father soon."

"I don't want to meet - wait, what?"

Tucker didn't reply, just hummed to himself as he walked around Reid's bed, checking to make sure all of the handcuffs were in working order. "You slept in your work clothes," he said suddenly. "That probably wasn't very comfortable. Do you want some new ones?"

Reid gritted his teeth. "No."

Tucker nodded. "I had a fun time last night," he said suddenly. "I like talking to you."

Reid swallowed. He didn't want to agitate Tucker; he wasn't acting violently, which was definitely a positive sign. "I had fun, too," Reid said hesitantly, "But why did you kidnap me?"

Tucker smiled. "Our father will explain it to you," he said. "He's coming down soon." He walked forward and sat down on the bed beside Reid. "Can I call you Spencer?" he asked.

Reid pursed his lips. "If you let me go," he said, offering a hopeful smile.

Tucker laughed loudly. "You're funny, Spencer," he said. "I'm glad we're going to be brothers."

Reid frowned. "Um, what?" he asked. Just then, the door to the basement opened again. Reid turned his head and focused on Tucker's expression; he looked excited, but also a little bit nervous.

"Father!" Tucker immediately got to his feet. The man that approached him was older; forty or forty-five; but he didn't look quite old enough to be Tucker's actual father, even though the two of them looked similar. He had a short auburn beard and serious eyes, and he was very tall; taller than both Reid and Tucker; and had large, rippling muscles in his arms. He stood up straight, and his posture was aggressive; dominant.

"Father, this is Spencer," Tucker said anxiously, as if desperate for his "father's" approval.

The man appraised him with a critical expression; instinctively, Reid looked away, beginning to feel self-conscious. Finally, the silence got too long, and looked up again nervously; the man's face hadn't changed, but Tucker was looking anxious. Reid's heart began to beat faster. What would happen if "father" _didn't_ approve of him? Would they kill him? Reid shuddered, and looked down again. How many others had been here before him?

Then the man spoke. "You were right, Tucker," he said. "He's an excellent choice."

Tucker's face lit up.

Reid swallowed. "Excuse me," he said, finally deciding to speak up, "I think there's been some kind of mistake. I'm not related to either of you. I work for the FBI, and my team is going to be wondering where I am soon. My badge is in my pocket, I'll show it to you."

They both stared at him in silence for a long time.

"He's probably hungry," the larger man said eventually, and Reid sighed. Well, it had been worth a try.

Tucker nodded. "What do you want to eat?" he asked Reid, a friendly smile on his face.

"Uhm…I don't-"

"Make him a peanut butter sandwich," the man commanded. "And get him some new clothes." He surveyed Reid's purple shirt with a critical expression. "He looks ridiculous."

Tucker nodded eagerly and darted up the stairs.

"Please," Reid said, as the man turned his back to him and began fiddling with the television. "What's going on here?"

The man turned around and advanced on Reid, who shrunk back into the bed.

"You will address me as father," he said sharply.

"But, you see, I think you're mistaken, because my father actually lives in-"

_Smack!_

Reid let out of a cry of protest as the man's fist came into contact with his face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, backpedaling.

The man slapped him again. "I'm sorry, _what?"_

"I'm sorry…f-father," Reid stammered, not wanting to be hit again. The man nodded his approval and turned again towards the television.

"You're forgiven, Spencer," the man said, "Just don't let it happen again. I would hate for Tucker to lose another brother."

Reid swallowed anxiously. _Okay, just be good, and he won't kill you,_ he thought to himself, trying to remain calm. The man turned around again.

"So," he said, folding his arms. "Tucker tells me that you're a genius."

Reid opened his mouth, then closed it.

"Tucker is very smart, too," the man said. "He's going to Georgetown."

Reid nodded. "I know," he said.

He was smacked again.

"I mean, I know, _father,"_ he panted clutching his face.

The man nodded. "Tucker says that you already went to college," he said.

Reid nodded. "Of course, uhm, _father. _I'm twenty-eight and…and work for the FBI. So, of course I went to college."

"You went to college when you were quite young," the man remarked. "When you were a child."

"Uhm, yes, that's right," Reid muttered. "Father," he added on hastily, as the man began to look enraged.

"Hmm," the man muttered. "You're quite something. You'll make an excellent son. And you're a perfect brother for Tucker." There was a pause. "Don't mess this up," he threatened angrily.

Reid didn't say anything, just stared at the man in disbelief. There was another silence as the man turned back around and began to fiddle with the television again.

"Uhm, father," Reid began carefully, and the man turned around. "I know that you don't want to hear this, but the thing is, my team will notice that I'm missing and come looking for me, and then if they find you, you and Tucker will be in a lot of trouble, and that wouldn't be…what are you doing?" he asked suddenly. The man had crossed the room again and had disappeared behind the staircase, only to reemerge holding a pair of what appeared to be silver bracelets.

"These are for when you're bad," the man said, crossing the room.

"I don't…hey!" The man attempted to fasten one of the bracelets around Reid's wrist; he pulled his hand away.

The man slapped him again and grabbed onto the chain holding his wrists together, pulling him closer. "That's one strike," he said. Reid watched helplessly as the man slapped the bracelets onto his wrists, where they jangled horribly against the handcuffs that were already in place.

"Hmm. Your wrists are skinny," the man noted. "They're a bit loose." He reached forward and reopened each bracelet again, then fastened them again; tighter; so that they were practically cutting off his circulation.

Reid rubbed his wrists, annoyed. The man pulled some kind of remote control out of his pocket. "I don't underst-" Reid's voice was cut off as a small electric shock jolted his body; he let out a yelp.

The man smiled, holding up the remote. "That's what happens when you're bad," he said.

Reid stared at the remote control and shrunk further into the sheets.

"That was setting one. There are twenty settings." He paused for effect. "Number seventeen was how Tucker lost his first brother. You don't want to be like him; do you?"

Reid shook his head vigorously.

"Then be good," the man said, smiling, and pocketed the remote.

_*Don't worry, it'll get worse before it gets better. Anyways…review please!*_


	3. Chapter 3

_*Thank you to anyone and everyone who reviewed! I hope everybody likes this chapter!*_

Everyone else had fallen asleep; Hotch stared blankly at the case file, glad that this particular one was over. It had been a long three days; but ultimately, they had saved the girl before she had been hurt; physically, at least.

They hadn't heard from Reid the entire time they'd been gone; it was Monday night, and he had been AWOL since Friday. Under normal circumstances, Hotch would have been concerned; but they had just been too busy, and their worry for their teammate's whereabouts had been pushed to the back of their heads. He suspected that Reid had either misplaced or turned off his phone; it was the weekend, after all; or was deliberately ignoring his calls; something that, Hotch decided, would require some sort of disciplinary action later on. Reid had been having a hard time lately, and he didn't want to stress his agent any more than usual, but he couldn't let it affect his work performance this way.

Hotch stared at his phone, deciding against dialing Reid's number again; he knew he wouldn't pick up. Instead, he called Garcia.

"Hotch? What do you need?" Garcia asked upon answering. Even though it wasn't even seven o'clock yet, she sounded ready for bed.

"Garcia, has Reid been in at all today?"

"No, sir."

Hotch frowned. It was one thing to miss a case over a weekend; it was another thing entirely to not show up to work.

"Has he contacted the office at all?" Maybe there had been some sort of family emergency.

"He hasn't, sir." There was a pause, and then her voice came out shriller than usual. "Is there something wrong?"

Hotch swallowed. "Maybe; we're almost back, and Morgan has a key to his apartment. We can go check on him once we land, to make sure he's alright." As he said these words, Hotch's stomach twisted uncomfortably. Reid _had_ been having those headaches lately. What if something was truly wrong with him? It wasn't like he had any family or friends who would check up on him.

And so, as soon as they landed, Hotch woke Morgan and informed him that they were driving to Reid's apartment immediately. Morgan had protested a bit, but eventually consented once Hotch voiced his concerns.

"Reid!" Morgan pounded loudly on the door. "Reid, its Hotch and Morgan, open up!"

Nothing.

Hotch telephoned Garcia. "Garcia, can you track Reid's phone for me?" he asked. He didn't want to enter the apartment without Reid's knowledge unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Hold on one sec." The two men waited in anxious silence as Garcia attempted to track it.

"Got anything?" Hotch asked after a minute or two.

"Well…it's a good thing Reid's phone is waterproof."

"What? Why?" Hotch demanded.

"Because according to this it's currently at the bottom of the Potomac River."

"WHAT?" Morgan shouted.

"Morgan; calm down; let's not jump to conclusions-" Hotch began, but Morgan was already backing up.

"What are you doing?" Hotch demanded.

"Breaking down the door!"

"Morgan! Wait!"

"What?" Morgan demanded, already preparing to strike.

"You have the key!"

There was a pause. "Oh, right." Morgan said, and dug around in his pocket for several moments. Hurriedly, he unlocked the door and the two men entered the apartment, Hotch's hand hovering instinctively around his gun.

"Reid?" Hotch called. "It's Morgan and Hotch."

They checked all of the rooms but found nothing; except…

"All his fish are dead," Morgan muttered. "He's supposed to feed them twice a day."

Hotch frowned. "Where's the cat?"

The cat, apparently, had clawed its way into the bag of cat food, and was doing perfectly fine.

"He hasn't been here in days," Hotch said tensely, peering around the apartment.

Morgan swallowed, obviously trying very hard not to panic. "Do you think something…happened to him when he was walking home from my house?"

"We can't be sure of anything yet," Hotch said. Well, except perhaps of one thing; this was definitely not good. "Call the team," he said to Morgan.

Meanwhile, Reid was eating dinner.

"I made it myself," Tucker was saying. Reid smiled politely.

"It's very good, Tucker," he said, although in his opinion Tucker was one of the worst cooks he had met in his entire life. But then he remembered what had happened the last time he had refused to eat Tucker's cooking; he shuddered. Besides, he had to eat _something._

"Thank you!" Tucker said, grinning. "Father thought so, too."

Father would come down from time to time during the day; according to Tucker, he was a very busy man. With what, Reid wasn't exactly sure. Tucker would be gone during the days, as well, as he had to attend classes; so during the daytime Reid just sat in the cellar, bored out of his mind, stuck watching whatever channel father had decided on for the day.

"What does father do for work?" Reid asked Tucker; he had already tried this question on several different occasions, and Tucker usually neglected to answer.

"I added some cinnamon this time," Tucker said, once again ignoring his question.

Reid had many other questions; for example, "Is father delusional, or just evil?" or "How long before you unchain me from this bed?" or "Who the hell puts cinnamon on spaghetti and meatballs?" But he knew that asking any of them might make Tucker; or father; angry, and before he knew it, Tucker would be looking for a new brother.

Just as he was finishing the last of his dinner, father came downstairs. Reid retreated into the sheets; nighttimes were the worst.

"Upstairs, Tucker," father commanded, and Tucker nodded obediently and scurried up the staircase.

"Hello, there," father said. "Are you ready for tonight's lesson?"

Reid grimaced, but nodded his head.

The shock was sharp, but not unbearable; probably a three or four. Reid let out a cry of surprise because it was so unexpected. Last night, he had been punished for giving the opposite answer.

"You shouldn't lie," father said silkily. "My sons are not liars."

"Sorry, father," Reid responded immediately.

Father moved closer. They sat on the bed in silence for awhile. Reid scrambled to think of something to say; last time, when the silence had been too long, he had been given a five for "ignoring his father."

"Tucker made spaghetti and meatballs tonight," Reid said hurriedly.

"Yes, I know," father said, "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes," Reid said immediately, then yelped as he was shocked again.

"I told you not to lie," father said angrily, "Tucker's cooking is horrible."

"But father," Reid said, frustrated, "Last night I told you I didn't like it, and I still got punished." This man was definitely a sadist; no matter what Reid said, he found some reason to punish him.

Father gave him what must have been an eight this time; Reid screamed, falling back on his bed. Once it was over, he reached for his wrist instinctively; the skin around the bracelets was burnt and raw.

"Don't disrespect your father!" he shouted.

"I d-didn't mean to-" He was zapped again, and then father reached forward and pulled him out of bed by his hair, so that the chains pulled painfully against his ankles. Father held him there like that for several moments; then he slapped him, hard, in the face, and dropped him back to the bed.

"You need to learn," father panted, "To be a good son. You need to learn not to be a liar…"

Reid didn't say anything; he simply lay on the bed, clutching his face.

_Zap!_

"Apologize!"

"I'm s-sorry fath-"

_Zap!_ That one had to be a ten.

"You're not sorry!" he screamed at Reid, who was now rolling around on the bed in agony. "You're only sorry for yourself!" Reid lay there, trembling, every inch of his body on fire; he waited for the next one to come, but it never did.

He glanced up; only to come face to face with his "father." He flinched away again, instinctively.

"You're just like the rest of them," father spat, then left the room, leaving Reid trembling there alone. A realization was beginning to dawn on him; it was a lot harder to be a "good son" than he had originally thought.

_*So Reid's in a bit more trouble than he thought. Hmmm. I haven't decided if he's going to live or not, yet. Reviews are cool! Tell me what you think!*_


	4. Chapter 4

_*So…it seems like a majority of people DON'T want me to kill Reid. Actually…I think every single person who reviewed asked me not to kill him. The thing is, I really like killing him. So should I cave in to peer pressure? I originally was going to kill him, but now I might change my mind. Oh, and PS: there already IS a warning for character death, I put it in the little information story thing.*_

Reid didn't move. He didn't even attempt to sit up. Every muscle in his body ached; he was pretty sure that even if Tucker removed all the handcuffs and opened the door, he wouldn't be able to make it outside.

Tucker was sitting next to him in complete silence.

"Are you okay?" he asked Reid.

Reid blinked. "Does it look like I'm okay?"

Tucker didn't say anything.

"Tucker," Reid muttered; it was painful to talk. "How long have I been here?"

Tucker twitched uncomfortably. "Two weeks," he said, "And a day."

Fifteen days. It felt like a lifetime.

Reid knew the effects that electric shocks could have on the human body; not to mention that when father got _too _angry, he sometimes started beating Reid up as well. But despite the pain, Reid knew that muscle soreness was the least of his worries.

"Tucker," he muttered, "You have to tell father to…take the bracelets off."

Tucker shook his head fervently. "I can't," he said, "He says you haven't learned to be a good son yet. It's not your fault," he added, "It takes awhile to learn. But it'll be worth it in the end."

Reid shook his head. "It's too much. It'll cause…you know." He inhaled painfully; every breath hurt. "Brain damage."

Tucker was silent.

Reid inhaled again, then attempted to reason with Tucker. "People subjected to electroshock therapy perform an average of forty points lower on IQ tests after the fact. Additionally, people subjected to electroshock therapy-"

"It's just on your wrists," Tucker protested, "That's how father teaches people."

Reid sucked in another breath. His stomach hurt so much. "The electrical current is the same, no matter where the original source is on the body," he breathed. "Retrograde amnesia-"

"Shut up!" Tucker shouted, getting to his feet and putting his hands over his ears. "You have to learn!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Reid said quickly; Tucker had never gotten angry before.

He sat back down. "You're only at ten," Tucker said feebly. "It's not that bad."

Breathe in. "You're right," Reid said, although he would beg to differ, "But if father goes higher; to twelve, or thirteen; the damage could be-"

"You need to learn!" Tucker shouted again, and Reid fell silent.

"Do you want to sit up?" Tucker asked suddenly. "You haven't sat up in…a couple days. Since dinner on Wednesday."

Reid swallowed. He didn't want to move. "My muscles are sore," he said.

"But it's good to move around," Tucker insisted, and before Reid could say anything else he grabbed Reid underneath his elbows and hoisted him into a sitting position.

"Ahhhhh," Reid hissed, his stomach muscles cramping and burning . Tucker held him upright, leaning him against his chest.

"You're fine," Tucker said cheerily. Reid gritted his teeth and shook his head.

"Agh…Tucker! Put me down…."

Tucker didn't comply; Reid focused on breathing evenly, shutting his eyes.

Tucker sighed contentedly. "You've lasted longer than anyone else," he said happily. "You've been really good."

Reid swallowed, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his muscles. Also, he had to go to the bathroom again. Fantastic.

"I'm glad I'm not going to be alone anymore," Tucker was saying, "Once you learn, you'll be a perfect brother."

"Tucker," Reid gasped, "Please. What exactly am I supposed to be learning?"

Tucker shrugged. "Father knows," he said.

Reid sighed. "How long have you been with father?" he asked. He didn't really expect an answer; he had already asked several times, and Tucker always ignored him; but to his surprise, Tucker responded.

"I've always been with him," he said, "He's my father." Well, it was a vague answer; but at least it was an answer.

"He seems a little bit young to be your _biological _father," Reid said. There was a long silence, and Reid wondered if he'd pushed Tucker too far.

"He's more of my father than…" Tucker trailed off.

"Did you have a different father?" Reid prompted.

He could feel Tucker shaking his head. "No! I didn't! Father is…he's my _real _father."

Reid let it go. "How old were you when you met father? Your…_real_ one, I mean."

Tucker hesitated. "Don't remember," he said eventually.

"Did you wear these bracelets, too?"

"N….no! I'm a good son!" Tucker shouted, beginning to tremble.

"I know! Of course you are!" Reid said quickly. "But you had to learn, didn't you? Just like me?"

Tucker was silent.

"You're scared of him, aren't you?" Reid asked. "You love him, of course," he added quickly, "But you're scared of him."

Tucker didn't say anything.

"You know," Reid said, "If I left, we could still be friends. You don't have to do what he says."

Tucker froze. "You want to leave?" he sounded devastated.

"No, no, of course not," Reid said quickly, then winced in pain. "I just should really let my team what's happened to me. They've got to be really concerned about me by this point. And they _are _the FBI, so they'll probably find me eventually, and then you and father would be in a lot of trouble." He wasn't being completely truthful, of course; chances were, if the team hadn't found him by this point it would be awhile before they ever did.

Tucker swallowed nervously. "Father wouldn't let that happen."

"He doesn't have any control over them," Reid said. He thought he heard a door opening; but no one entered. _I really hope I'm not hearing things, now, _he thought to himself.

"Father would stop them," Tucker insisted, breaking into Reid's reverie.

"He can't, though," Reid explained. "They're the FBI. Once they find this house, you'll both be under arrest for kidnapping a federal agent."

Tucker's breathing rate increased.

"If you let me go," Reid said, hoping he was making progress, "I wouldn't have to tell them. And then neither of you would be in trouble. That would be much better. Or maybe you could let me write to them, to tell them I'm okay."

A voice came from the top of the staircase. "Tucker," it said. Reid froze, whipping his head around despite the pain. Father had heard him.

"Father? What is it?" Tucker replied dutifully.

"Tucker," father repeated, his voice firm and angry, "Leave the house for the night. Don't come back until morning."

He could feel Tucker tense up behind him. "But, father," he began, panic evident in his voice. "He's my favorite. He's been so good. You can't just-"

"OUT!" Father commanded. Reid could feel Tucker trembling as he was slowly lowered back to the bed. Reid grabbed onto Tucker's sleeve.

"Please," Reid breathed, "Don't leave. Please, Tucker. Don't leave me." Tucker stared at his arm for several moments, looking torn. But then father yelled again, and Tucker jumped.

"Goodbye, Spencer," he whispered brokenly. He tore his arm away and hurried up the stairs.

"No! WAIT! TUCKER!" Reid screamed. Tucker didn't look back. Father closed the door.

Reid felt adrenaline and fear pump through his veins. Using all of his effort, he pulled himself into a sitting position. If this man was going to kill him, he wasn't going to just lie there helplessly.

Father approached the bed slowly; Reid met his gaze, trying not to show how terrified he was.

"So," father began, his voice dangerously calm. "You think your team is looking for you."

Reid swallowed. "They are," he breathed. "I was telling the truth. Please. Just let me go. You know this is upsetting Tucker."

The man lashed out suddenly, striking Reid in the face and knocking him back to the bed. "I'm doing this _for _Tucker!"

"Okay, okay," Reid panted, scrambling for the right thing to say.

"You COULD have just been GOOD!" father screamed.

"I w-will be," Reid stammered, "I'll be good from now on-"

"You're lying!" father cried, his face contorted with rage. Then, suddenly, it relaxed; he was calm again, in control. "So," he said, "Should I start at fourteen? Or fifteen, maybe?"

Reid stared up at him, pleading. "Please. Just let me go. Just end this."

The man grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and pulled him close. "Oh, I'm ending it," he hissed.

And then it began.

_*Reviews are your friend!*_


	5. Chapter 5

_*Thanks to all reviewing-people! Also thanks to anyone who read it in general. I hope the majority of you enjoy this chapter.*_

"I am aware of the team's personal connections to this case, Agent Hotchner, but you and your team have other things to focus on."

Hotch gritted his teeth. "With all due respect, ma'am," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "With Dr. Reid missing, the effectiveness of our team is significantly inhibited, and-"

"I am aware of this," Agent Strauss said. "But how much progress have you made on this case since you started working on it? Do you have a profile?"

"We have victimology," Hotch said quickly, "There have been six other unsolved missing persons cases over the past ten years, in DC and Virginia. The men missing fit the same age and body type of Dr. Reid, and their bodies all turned up about a week later, disposal sites including-"

"Agent Hotchner," Strauss said cut in angrily, "I am aware of the victimology. Have you made any further progress on this case? _Do you have a profile?_"

"W-we've been…" Hotch trailed off, trying to think quickly.

"You've been on this case for twelve days, Agent Hotchner," she snapped, "And you estimate that Dr. Reid has been missing for fifteen. The other bodies turned up after a week."

Hotch tried to keep a poker face. "We haven't found a body, so we need to assume-"

" You have no profile," she continued ruthlessly, "your team is no closer to finding Dr. Reid than when you began looking into this case. I'm sorry, Agent Hotchner. I know how difficult this is for all of you, but I need to make sure that this team is being as productive as possible."

Hotch opened his mouth to argue further; then closed it. As much as he hated her, he knew that she was right. "One more day," he said. "One more day on this case, and we'll move on."

She pursed her lips, obviously disapproving. "Very well, Agent Hotchner," she said, "But this is your last chance."

Hotch opened the door and stepped into the bullpen, preparing to call everyone in early; but there was no need. Hotch nearly crashed into Garcia, who was half walking, half running back to her office. Everybody else was already in their seats; Prentiss and JJ were rereading the missing persons cases again; Rossi was in his office with the door shut; Morgan had his eyes closed and his fingers pressed to his temples, obviously thinking hard about something.

"Everybody. Conference room, now," Hotch said.

It took everyone less than a minute to get into the conference room.

"Garcia," Hotch said, "Please tell me you have something. Anything else."

She looked at him miserably. "Nothing. No personal connections between any of the victims, besides living or working in D.C. I tried to create one of the geographic profile things, that Reid usually does, but I just…" she trailed off. "Either I did it wrong, or there's no connection between any of them."

Hotch let out a frustrated sigh. "Do it again, and if you can't do it right have Emily or Morgan do it; and dig deeper, Garcia. You need to examine every aspect of these men's lives. Look for any possible connections; high school, college, _dentists, _I don't know, just work quickly. Strauss has given us one more day."

Everyone looked grim; but not surprised. Hotch got started immediately. "Each of these victims bodies showed prolonged abuse as a result of electric shock," Hotch said, for what felt like the hundredth time. "Let's say that he _isn't_ a sadist. What would it be used for?"

"Evidence suggests he _is_ sadistic," Emily piped up, "The bodies had additional injuries, and-"

"We've already been there," Hotch snapped, interrupting her. "Let's say that he has another purpose."

There was a pause.

"Reinforcement," Morgan said suddenly. "He's trying to teach them something."

"Alright, good," Hotch said.

"But then why kill them?" Rossi asked.

"He doesn't mean to," Morgan piped up, "Maybe he can't control himself…he lets his anger get in the way. That's where all the other injuries come from."

"Or maybe they don't develop the way he wants them to," Emily said. "The reinforcement doesn't work. This makes him appear sadistic; but he's just frustrated. So he gets rid of them, and takes another…"

"But then why such a long gap in between each victim?" Rossi inquired. "Six cases over ten years."

There was a long pause.

"He chooses his next victim very carefully," Morgan suggested suddenly, "Think about it; all of the men looked exactly alike. Same color hair, same color eyes, same body type; and all intelligent, successful, young men; one was a doctor, one was a lawyer…"

"One was an FBI agent," Rossi muttered. They were silent for a moment before he started up again. "He spends months; years; finding someone that perfectly matches the type that he wants. And then when he finds out they aren't exactly what he expected them to be…"

"He gets angry," Hotch muttered. "So if he isn't sadistic; maybe he's in a psychotic break?"

"He's too controlled," Rossi said. "He leaves no fingerprints, no evidence; an unsub in a psychotic break would be disorganized."

"Then what _is_ his motivation?" Morgan asked.

They sat there in silence for a full minute, thinking. Eventually, Hotch said, "Let's go back to the first victim…"

It went on like this for the rest of the day. The air was tense, thick with anxiety; everybody knew that they were running out of time. Finally, when it started to get dark out, Hotch sent everybody back to their desks, discouraged. He retreated into his office and sat down, putting his head in his hands. Strauss was right. They had nothing. And according to the little information they had, Reid was supposed to have died a week ago.

Hotch stared despondently at his keyboard. They still had until the end of the day; but he knew it was futile. They hadn't found anything because there was nothing to find. They wouldn't get any more hints until the unsub dumped another body.

Just then, the phone rang.

He sighed. He considered ignoring it, but picked up anyways.

"Hotchner."

"Agent Hotchner," the receptionist said, "There's a young man here to see you."

"Tell him I'm busy." If staring at the table wishing he could drown himself in his coffee really qualified as busy.

There was a muffled conversation. "He says it's extremely urgent, sir. And he's…um, crying." The receptionist sounded very uncomfortable.

Hotch sighed. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. But then again, he couldn't stop doing his job. "He wants to see _me_? Why?"

"He wants to see the head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, sir." There was another muffled conversation. "He says it's about your doctor."

Hotch frowned. "What?" he asked, beginning to get extremely irritated.

"He says it's a matter of life and death, sir. And…he's still crying."

Hotch exhaled, annoyed. "Send him in, I suppose," he said through gritted teeth.

"Thank you, sir." The receptionist sounded very relieved. Hotch straightened his tie as he waited for the knock on the door, trying to compose himself. Unfortunately, the knock never came; instead, Hotch nearly fell out of his chair in surprise as a young man barged in, nearly ripping the door off of its hinges.

After the dramatic entrance, the man just stood there and stared at Hotch. Hotch stared back. The young man was extremely thin; practically emancipated; and his forehead was dripping with sweat, his brown hair plastered to his face.

Hotch swallowed, then attempted to regain his composure. "Hello," he said to the young man.

The man swallowed. "H-hi," he whispered, his voice cracking.

"Why don't you sit down?" Hotch offered, concerned that he was about to pass out on the floor.

The boy nodded, yet made no move towards the couch. Hotch sighed. He didn't have time for this.

"What's your name?" Hotch asked.

He was silent for so long that Hotch wondered if he'd heard him. "What's your name?" Hotch prompted again, louder this time.

He mouthed something.

"What?" Hotch asked.

"T-Tucker," he whispered, as if his own name terrified him.

Hotch frowned. "Well, Tucker," he said, "Is there something I can do for you?"

Tucker hesitated for a long moment; then nodded. "My brother is in trouble," he whispered. "I need you to save him."


	6. Chapter 6

_*Thanks to all reviewers!*_

"What kind of trouble do you mean?" Hotch asked the youth, who was looking more and more agitated by the moment.

"I-I can't t-tell, but I j-just…." Tucker trailed off.

"You can't tell?" Hotch gave him a disbelieving expression. He _really _didn't have time for this right now. "Well, Tucker, if you can't tell me the problem, I don't know what you expect-"

"N-no! I can! I just don't want to get my father in trouble!"

"What's your father's name?"

Tucker shook his head fervently, his eyes wide.

Hotch sighed. "Well, can you at least tell me your brother's name?"

Tucker nodded. "Yes," he said. "His name is Spencer R-reid."

Hotch stared at him in silence for a moment. He must have heard wrong. "What did you say?"

Tucker cleared his throat. "Spencer Reid. He's in t-trouble, and if we d-don't hurry-"

"Did you say Spencer Reid?" Hotch asked, dazed and confused. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Spencer didn't have any siblings…

"You're supposed to know him!" Tucker said desperately. "And you're supposed to be Agent Hotchner! He always talked about-"

"WHAT?" Hotch demanded, standing up.

"I-I'll just, go, then, if you d-don't want to-" Tucker turned around and started for the door; Hotch was at his side in an instant, grabbing onto his arm.

"Show me where your brother is," he said.

"Garcia, what have you got on this guy?" Morgan asked. Hotch was driving with Morgan beside him; a miserable looking Tucker sat in the backseat. Tucker had refused to give them his "father's" name, but Garcia had been able to track the guy through his address; and they needed to learn as much about him as possible in the ten or fifteen minute drive. It was dangerous to go face to face with an unsub for whom they had no profile.

"His name is Christopher Buchannan," Garcia said hurriedly, "He's forty-nine years old. He's never been arrested before, no criminal record…looks like he got married when he was only nineteen, had a kid not long after. But…oh," she muttered.

"What, Garcia?" Morgan asked.

"His eighteen year old son was killed ten years ago. Driving under the influence."

"Stressor," Morgan said, as Hotch swerved around the corner, sirens blaring.

"Yes, but it looks like aside from _that _particular decision, he was a smart kid. Straight As; valedictorian; he was headed for Georgetown, actually-"

"So he's abducting intelligent young men that remind him of his son," Hotch said. Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch got a glance of Tucker; the young man had brought his knees to his chest and put his hands over his ears, as if he couldn't stand to hear what they were saying.

"That doesn't make sense," Morgan said, "Reid's in his late twenties. His son was a teenager when he was killed."

"That's the age his son _would_ have been, if he had survived," Hotch said grimly. "That's why the age of the victims increases periodically."

"That's unusual," Morgan commented, as Hotch swerved again, cutting off a red truck that had accidentally gotten in their way.

"Indicates a higher level of thought organization," Hotch said. "He wants it to seem like his son is still alive, and is living the life he was _meant _to have." Hotch glanced again at Tucker, wondering how he fit into all of this; was he another victim? He looked an awful lot like Reid. Could he have been just similar enough to the original son to have survived? But Tucker didn't look like he was in any condition to be interviewed right now; he still had his hands over his ears, and was now visibly shaking.

"What about his wife?" Hotch asked, worried that they might be dealing with multiple unsubs.

"They divorced when the son was two, sir. She lives in Florida, now, and-"

"Alright, thanks Garcia, anything else?" Morgan asked, cutting in.

"He runs his own business. They sell office supplies. Hmm," she muttered, "It's doing pretty well this year, actually, especially considering the economic-"

"Garcia! Need to know, only!" Hotch shouted, swerving around another corner.

"Right. Um…." There was some furious typing. "Well, nothing other than he's a member of a number of local gyms. He looks like he's in pretty good shape…"

"Garcia! Anything _important_?" Morgan snapped.

"Nothing else," she said quickly. "Just…be careful. And get Reid back safely."

"FBI!" Morgan shouted, slamming his fist into the door. "Open up!"

"H-he's in the basement," Tucker stammered; Hotch was clutching his arm tightly as they stood outside the house. "I have the key i-in my p-pocket somewhere-"

"No time!" Morgan shouted, and two seconds later the door had been kicked from its hinges. Tucker let out a wail of disapproval as Morgan advanced inside.

Hotch pulled Tucker in as well, following Morgan. "Where's the basement?" he demanded of the youth, as Morgan advanced into the living room.

Tucker was in tears by this point. "You c-can't hurt f-father," he gasped.

"The sooner you tell us where the basement is, the more likely we'll get Reid _and _your father out of there safely," Hotch said, speaking quickly but trying to appear calm.

Tucker hesitated, then nodded hurriedly and led them around back. "In here," he whispered, pointing to a door that was barely visible behind a large coat rack.

"Let's move!" Morgan shoved the coat rack out of the way and kicked down his second door of the day.

"Christopher Buchannan! FBI! Don't move!" Morgan yelled, starting down the stairs. Tucker tried to follow, but Hotch put his hand on his chest and pushed him back.

"Go wait outside," he hissed.

"I SAID DON'T MOVE!" Hotch heard Morgan shout. Hotch turned around and followed him down the stairs.

"Sir," Morgan was saying, "Turn around and put your hands on your head." A large, muscular man was standing over a limp form; _Reid, _Hotch realized, with a rush of adrenaline and panic. The large man; Buchannan; was holding some sort of remote control. His back was to them; Hotch couldn't see either of their faces.

"Sir!" Morgan shouted. Finally, the man turned around; but he didn't put his hands on his head. He just held the remote control high in the air.

"Christopher," Morgan said, "You don't want to hurt him."

"He's not a good son," Buchannan said, looking pained. "I had to get rid of him. You have to understand. He couldn't…couldn't learn. He just couldn't learn."

"The remote," Hotch muttered, and Morgan nodded; it could be a bomb for all they knew.

"Mr. Buchannan, if you put down that remote and step away from Dr. Reid, we can work this all out," Morgan said.

Buchannan didn't answer. "Where's Tucker?" he asked.

"Tucker is just outside, sir. If you put down that remote control, and step away from-"

"Nothing to be done," Buchannan interrupted, looking sadly at Reid. Then, slowly, he took a step away and lowered the remote onto the ground.

Morgan darted forward to apprehend him; Hotch ran over to the body lying on the floor.

"Hey, Reid, c'mon," he muttered. He grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse; it was warm.

That was when he felt it.

"Morgan, I've got a pulse!" Hotch shouted, allowing relief to seep into his voice. He heard a long sigh come from Morgan, and the other agent let out a shaky laugh.

Grinning from ear to ear, Hotch shook Reid's shoulder. "Reid," he mumbled. The boy didn't stir. Frowning, Hotch checked the pulse again; it was strong, but then Hotch noticed something else. It was uneven and erratic; it would beat strongly for several moments, then far too quickly, then stop all together.

"Morgan, we need to get him to an ambulance," Hotch said quickly.

Morgan finished cuffing Buchannan, then nodded. "Can you carry him?"

"I'm not sure if I should move him yet. Get the paramedics down here. " Morgan nodded and hurried Buchannan up the stairs. Hotch bent down next to Reid, checking his pulse again.

"Hey there, Reid," he muttered. "We were pretty worried about you. You can't keep doing this, you know. You nearly gave Garcia a panic attack when she found out you were missing. We were all sorry for how we left things at that party. Next time we don't have to have drinks. We can all watch Star Trek together instead, if you…Reid?"

The boy's finger had twitched.

"Reid? You there?" He grabbed onto the hand and squeezed it. "We found you. Everything will be fine," he said, using the same soothing voice he sometimes used to talk to Jack.

Reid's lips moved.

"What was that?"

He mumbled something. Hotch leaned closer, trying to listen.

"I promise to be good," he breathed.

Hotch put his hand on Reid's shoulder. "It's alright, Reid, he isn't going to hurt you anymore."

Reid's brow furrowed with confusion, his eyes still closed. "Father?" he asked.

"No, he's gone," Hotch said.

Reid's eyes snapped opened; he blinked in confusion for several moments before his eyes adjusted to the light. He focused on Hotch with an expression of terror.

"Reid," Hotch said, "Christopher Buchannan is gone. We found you."

Reid's terrifiedexpression didn't diminish; his confusion only seemed to increase. His lips moved for several more moments, as if he were trying to figure out the right question to ask; but no sound came out. Hotch waited patiently; he could hear the paramedics coming down the stairs. Then, finally, Reid spoke.

"Who the hell are you?"

_*So I didn't kill him but now we get to see what happened to his brain, which should be fun. Oh, and reviews bring peace and happiness to the world : )*_


	7. Chapter 7

_*Thank you for the reviews! Virtual candy to all of you. *_

"So he's going to be okay?" Morgan demanded angrily.

The doctor didn't answer; he was shuffling through paperwork rapidly.

"Hey!" Morgan shouted, to get his attention. The young man jumped, dropping his pen to the floor.

"Ah, sorry," he said hurriedly. "You're with Dr. Reid?"

"That's right," Morgan said, still annoyed.

The doctor looked him up and down. "Oh…I'm only supposed to talk to his family."

"His only living relative is his mother, who's in a sanitarium in Vegas. So you can call her up, if you want to, or you could talk to me."

The doctor swallowed nervously, then nodded. "Well," he began, "He's going to live. But beyond that, we really won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up."

Morgan gritted his teeth; this man was really starting to get on his nerves. "So you know nothing."

"Well, there was evidence that he was given around 1300 milliamps of electricity at one point; maybe more, we can't accurately quantify it; we're lucky it didn't cause him to go into cardiac arrest."

Morgan rolled his eyes. If Reid were lucky, they wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

"Well…what kind of damage is usually caused by these types of things?" Morgan asked hesitantly.

"Oh, all sorts," the doctor said lazily, "Retrograde and anterograde amnesia are the most common. There's also a chance of slight hearing or vision loss; muscle spasms, internal and external burning, oh, and a personality change can be quite common, if there was damage to the frontal lobes. "

Morgan swallowed. "Right," he muttered. He paused, then said, "My boss said that…that when he spoke to Reid, briefly, he had no idea who he was."

The doctor nodded quickly. "Yep, retrograde amnesia. Sign of damage to the temporal lobes."

Morgan swallowed. "He has an eidetic memory. Would that help at all?"

The doctor stared at him. "I doubt he has the same memory he used to have," he replied. "And general intelligence is likely to be significantly lowered." He paused, waiting for Morgan to say something; but the agent couldn't speak. The doctor cleared his throat. "Will that be all, then?"

Morgan wanted to punch the guy, but instead he just nodded. The doctor smiled vaguely and walked away, his nose buried in his paperwork.

Morgan hurried back into Reid's hospital room; he was still asleep, but every couple of seconds he would twitch painfully, squirming under the sheets.

Morgan stared at his teammate, lost in his thoughts. Retrograde amnesia, lower intelligence, _personality_ changes…they may have saved Reid before he had been killed; but was he even Reid anymore?

Hotch put his head in his hands. This was impossible.

"Tucker, we don't want any trouble with you. We just need you to give us a bit more information."

Tucker fidgeted in his seat, his arms crossed. "I don't have any information," he muttered. "I'm…I'm missing class right now."

"The sooner you tell us about your life with Christoph- I mean, your father, the sooner we can get this over with." Hotch said. They needed to know as much as possible about Tucker's experience with Buchannan to try and help Reid; and Tucker, for that matter; recover as quickly possible.

It would also help to be able to charge Buchannan with the other six murders.

Hotch sighed. Tucker was proving more difficult to talk to then he'd bargained. "So you don't remember anything _before _you met your father?" Hotch asked, for what seemed like the fiftieth time.

Tucker shook his head.

"Do you remember _when _you met your father?"

Tucker stared at Hotch with cold eyes which seemed quite uncharacteristic of him. "He has always been my father," he answered flatly. "There was nothing before him."

"Well, you aren't related to him, are you?" Hotch prompted.

Tucker stared. "He is my father," he said simply.

Hotch heard Rossi's voice in his ear. "Those aren't his words," the older man said, "His entire disposition has changed."

Hotch nodded ever so slightly. This response was conditioned. He wasn't ready to tackle that particular mental barrier yet. "Thank you, Tucker," Hotch said, standing up. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Oh! Soda!" Tucker said excitedly, becoming more like himself.

"Soda it is," Hotch said, then left the room. Rossi was still staring at the boy through the glass when he shut the door.

"Any time you mention his father, alarms go up," Rossi said.

Hotch nodded. "Either he's truly forgotten his earlier life, or he's too afraid to remember it." He let out a long sigh. "Dave, can you get him a soda?" he asked, then headed across the hall. It was time to interview Christopher Buchannan.

Hotch sat down. "Hello," he said coolly.

Buchannan raised his eyebrows, then snorted. "They sent the pretty blond in here first," he said. "What's your name?"

Hotch didn't blink. "Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner."

Buchannan smirked, then looked down at the table. He was silent for some time, and the smile slowly slid off of his face. "I want to see Tucker," he said eventually.

"Tucker is in a different room right now. We can assure you that he's perfectly fine."

Buchannan didn't say anything, just continued to stare at the table.

Hotch leaned across the table. "Mr. Buchannan, are you aware that you are being charged with the murders of six young men and the abduction of a federal agent?"

"I should get a lawyer," Buchannan mumbled, more to himself than to Hotch.

"Mr. Buchannan, we're just talking here," Hotch said hurriedly. A goddamn lawyer was the last thing they needed.

Buchannan sat in silence for a long while. "I was making good sons," he said eventually.

"How so?" Hotch asked quickly.

"I tried to teach them," Buchannan said sadly, "But they never learn. Even when they're supposed to be grown up. They grow up and they just..._don't learn."_

"What about Tucker?" Hotch asked hurriedly, "Did Tucker learn?"

Buchannan smiled slightly. "Tucker is…such a good boy," he murmured. "He wanted a brother," he added as an afterthought.

"Is that why you kidnapped Dr. Reid and those six other men?" Hotch asked carefully.

Buchannan shifted in his chair. He was silent for a good thirty seconds before he spoke. "I saw those men," he began in a low voice. "Boys, really. Children. They were just like my son. It was only a matter of time before…before something happened to them." He swallowed. "They're all the same. They make bad decisions. I tried…tried to teach them. To be good. I _tried. _I _tried _to teach them, but they _wouldn't learn!" _He slammed his fist onto table. Hotch didn't flinch.

"And you taught Tucker, as well?" Hotch asked. "You kidnapped him right after your son died."

"Kidnapped…?" Buchannan trailed off in disbelief, as if he had never heard such an abominable word in his life. "I _saved _Tucker!"

"Mr. Buchannan, who is Tucker's real family? Do you even know?" Hotch asked savagely.

Buchannan started trembling. "He's _my _son!" he shouted.

"Mr. Buchannan, Tucker isn't your son. Your son was killed in a car accident when he was eighteen years old. Your son is dead; so are six other young men."

Buchannan simply shook his head, his eyes closed.

"These men deserved lives, Mr. Buchannan."

Buchannan didn't move. "I want a lawyer," he growled suddenly.

"I can read you their names, Mr. Buchannan. Let's see," Hotch cleared his throat and began. "Nathan Palmer, Lucas Beckett-"

Buchannan started trembling; whether it was from fear or anger, Hotch wasn't exactly sure.

"Oliver Fowles, Michael Hopkins-"

"They wouldn't learn," Buchannan growled, "They deserved it."

"James Halloway-"

"I tried to help them-"

"…Troy Baker." Hotch paused, contemplated for a moment, then said, "Spencer Reid."

Buchannan was completely still. Hotch sighed; he made to stand up. As he was about to leave the room, however, he felt a hand grab his shoulder. He turned around.

"I had to do it," Buchannan whispered desperately, his face inches from Hotch's. "You understand why I had to, right Agent Hotchner? They had to…learn. To be good sons. You see, don't you? You see why…why they had to learn…"

Hotch stared at him with a level expression, then nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said. Then he freed his arm, turned around, and left the broken man standing there in silence.

_*Thanks for reading! Sorry for the lack of Reid in this chapter, I promise there will be plenty of him in the next one. So…yeah! Review it up : )*_


	8. Chapter 8

_*Thanks to reviewers! And sorry I didn't update when I usually do, I've been so busy I legitimately didn't have the ten minutes to write another chapter. So, I've made this one longer to make up for it. I hope everyone likes it and such.*_

"Why hasn't he woken up yet?" Morgan demanded, his arms folded.

The doctor shrugged; it was the same young man he had talked to earlier. "We've given him a lot of painkillers."

Morgan gritted his teeth. "I thought I asked you _not _to give him any painkillers."

"Yeah, well, you're not his family, so you technically have no say in whether or not we give him painkillers."

Morgan tried not to inject any anger into his voice. "He had a heroin addiction three years ago."

The doctor shrugged. "Well, it wasn't in our records. And he seemed like he needed pain medication."

"But I told you not to-" Morgan broke off; the last thing he needed was to have some kind of altercation with Reid's doctor. "Alright, well should he wake up soon?"

"Any time now," the doctor said. "Call me if he does," he said, and walked out of the room.

Morgan sat down next to Reid's bed, dialing Hotch's number. "Hotch. He's supposed to wake up soon, if want to let everyone know."

"I'll come over, but don't tell the others, they'll all want to see him and I haven't told them about his…memory condition." Then Hotch hung up before Morgan could say anything else.

Morgan sighed, resting his head in his hands. That was when he heard a sigh.

When he looked up, Reid's eyes were open.

Morgan immediately got to his feet. "Hey," he said, deciding that he didn't want to call the doctor just yet.

Reid stared at him, his lips moving wordlessly. Finally, he muttered, "Hello," and made to sit up.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Morgan asked, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible.

Reid narrowed his eyes. "I remember you," he said.

Morgan's heart skipped a beat, swelling with hope. "You do?"

"Yeah," Reid said. His face was not friendly. "You arrested my father."

Morgan felt like he deflated a bit as disappointment washed over him. "Listen," he said quickly. "That man was not your father, and-"

"He is."

"No, he's not," Morgan said quickly, "Your name is Spencer Reid and-"

"I know my name!" Reid looked offended.

Morgan frowned, taken aback. "What _do _you remember?"

He sat up straighter and glanced out into the hallway. "Where's my father? Why am I in a hospital?"

"Reid, your father's name is Christopher Buchannan and you were abducted by him two weeks ago. You are a federal agent of the FBI and you are twenty-eight years old."

Reid stared at him. Finally, he said, "I think you have me confused with someone else. I live with my brother and father and-"

"Christopher Buchannan subjected you to electrical torture and has conditioned you to believe that he's your father, but in reality-"

"Shut up," Reid snapped. His heart monitor started accelerating. "I barely even know you. What are you doing here? I need to see my father."

Morgan tried not to be offended by that. "My name is Derek Morgan," he said. "We work together. We're on the same team."

Reid didn't say anything.

"Your mother lives in Las Vegas, where you grew up," Morgan said quickly, hoping to spark something. "You graduated from public high school when you were twelve. You have doctorates in Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics, and Bachelors degrees in sociology and psychology."

Reid was looking at him like he had five heads.

"You entered the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI when you were nineteen years old. You love coffee and you can read 20,000 words per minute."

The heart monitor was going haywire. "Sh-shut up," he stammered, "My father would have told me. I don't want you to be here."

"Reid, you've got to-"

"Hey! Are you upsetting my patient?" The doctor that Morgan hated so much hurried back into the room. "Out! Get out! Go away!" he snapped at Morgan, who was forced to leave the room. He called Hotch again.

"Hotch, he's up," Morgan said.

"And?" Hotch asked.

"He doesn't remember anything except for his father and Tucker, I think."

Hotch sighed. "Do you think it's temporary?"

"I don't know. The doctor kicked me out. By the way, how did the interrogation go?"

"We got a confession," he said shortly, "But Tucker can't remember anything except for what Buchannan conditioned him to remember."

Morgan gritted his teeth. That didn't look good for Reid. "Are you almost here?"

"I'm just outside."

Hotch pushed open the door and pressed the button of the elevator, waiting impatiently. Glancing behind him, he saw a few familiar faces entering.

"Rossi? Prentiss?" he frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"We knew you were going to visit Reid," Rossi said.

"Profilers, remember?" Prentiss asked. "You wouldn't leave an hour early for nothing."

"So you followed me here?" Hotch asked, irritated. How hadn't he noticed them?

"Actually, we told Strauss that you dismissed everyone early. JJ and Garcia were in the car behind us."

"What? But-" he broke off as he saw the two girls entering. "No, you can't be here, you'll freak him out."

"Why not? He wants to see us, doesn't he?" Garcia demanded as the two of them arrived near the elevator.

"He doesn't _remember _you," Hotch snapped.

There was a silence. The elevator arrived with a soft _ding._

"What?" JJ asked eventually.

Hotch massaged his temple; this was not what he needed right now. "When we found him in the basement, he didn't know who I was. He's just woken up and still doesn't remember."

They all just stared at him. "Why didn't you tell us?" Prentiss asked suddenly. Garcia looked close to tears.

"I didn't want to _upset _you," Hotch said, gesturing to Garcia to prove his point, "until we knew all the facts. You can come up if you want to, but you can't all go into his room at once." The girls all nodded frantically; Rossi just stared at him, his expression solemn, but neutral; the older man had know the risks involved, after seeing Tucker, but had not known the extent of the damage. They all got into the elevator and waited in silence as it rose upwards.

"I thought you _weren't _going to bring everybody," Morgan snapped, seeing the five people stepping out of the elevator.

"They followed me here," Hotch said shortly. "What's the doctor doing?"

"Monitoring his heart rate," Morgan said. "When I told Reid he was an FBI agent he got a little...jumpy."

"I'd like to talk to the doctor," Hotch said authoritatively, pushing past Morgan and walking towards the room.

"Good luck with that," Morgan's voice called from just behind him. Hotch ignored him and walked over to the door of the room, knocking softly.

The doctor glared at him. "Go away," he said, "I just got him calmed down after your _friend _upset him." Then he turned back to Reid and began fiddling with the heart monitor; Hotch, however, didn't move.

Reid was watching the doctor was an interested expression. "How does that work?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter, as long as it monitors your heart rate," the doctor said, irritated.

Reid peered over his shoulder, looking at the other assortment of gadgets in the room. "What does _that _do?" he asked, pointing at a machine sitting in the corner.

"Who cares?" the doctor snapped.

Reid looked offended. "_I_ care, obviously, that's why I asked you."

"Yes, obviously," Hotch said, smirking from the doorway. The doctor whipped around.

"I thought I told you to leave," he said, looking angrier and angrier by the second.

"I just want to talk to Dr. Reid," Hotch said.

The doctor sighed, then muttered, "Better you than me. Just call me if the monitor starts beeping again."

Hotch nodded, and the doctor pushed past him out of the room. He approached Reid slowly, trying to not act too imposing. "He seems like a nice guy," Hotch said, smiling slightly.

Reid smiled back, relaxing. "I think he's a little rude," he said. He paused. "You were in my basement," he said. "I'm sorry I was rude; but I was surprised."

Hotch nodded. "That's alright."

Reid shifted uncomfortably in the bed. "You were really nice to me," he said. There was a pause. "Do you know where my father is?" Reid asked.

Hotch swallowed. "We had to arrest him," he said.

"But why?"

Hotch inhaled deeply. "Well, because he was torturing you."

Reid just shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. "No, that; you're mistaken. That was right. That; he was supposed to be doing that."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes," Reid said. "I was supposed to be learning." He licked his lips.

"Tell me about your father," Hotch said.

"Oh," Reid began, "Well, he was teaching me to be good."

"Why? Were you bad before?" Hotch prompted.

"I…no. Yes. I don't…" he frowned, thinking hard, "Don't remember…"

"You don't remember before?" Hotch asked.

Reid paused. "Well, I'm not supposed to," he said slowly.

"Could you?" Hotch asked.

Reid was silent for a long time. "There was that guy in here earlier," he said, "Derek Morgan?"

Hotch nodded.

"Was he telling the truth?"

Another nod. Reid was silent for a long time. "Did I know you, too?"

"I'm your unit chief," Hotch said.

Reid nodded slowly, looking slightly dazed. "I knew the whole time," he said, "It, I mean, I knew that something felt wrong. It felt the whole time like I wasn't supposed to be there. Like I was supposed to be somewhere else."

"That's right," Hotch said. "Because that man—he isn't your father."

Reid flinched. "Yes he is!" he shouted, trembling violently.

"Okay, okay," Hotch said, backpedalling. "I'm going to go outside now, Reid. Is that alright?"

He nodded slowly. Hotch turned and retreated into the hallway, where the entire team was waiting anxiously.

"Well," he said, "I convinced him you were telling the truth, Morgan."

"How'd you manage that?" Morgan demanded, but Hotch just shook his head.

"He's still afraid to admit Buchannan isn't his father." He glanced back. "But he's willing to accept that there was something…'wrong' with him. And the electricity has definitely taken its toll on his memory, but he isn't as…._nervous _as Tucker, probably because Buchannan only had him for two weeks."

"Well, that's progress," Morgan said.

"What are the chances he'll get his memory back?" JJ interrupted anxiously.

"I tried to ask the doctor, but he keeps disappearing," Morgan hissed angrily.

Hotch nodded. "Well, while he's allowing visitors, I think it might be beneficial if we all went in one at a time and explained who we are. It might trigger something."

They all nodded. "I'll go first," JJ offered quickly. She approached the room.

"Hi, Spence," JJ said, unsure of how her younger team member would react. He frowned at her and was silent for a long time.

"You're pretty," he said eventually.

JJ blushed. "Thank you," she muttered, chalking it up to the painkillers; the real Spence would be way too shy to say something like that out loud.

"Do I know you?" he asked eagerly.

JJ nodded. "Yes; we're friends. And we work together. You're my son's godfather."

"Oh," he said, looking slightly disappointed. "So 'Spence' is just short for Spencer, right?"

"Oh—yeah," JJ said.

Spence smiled, then beckoned her forward, as if he were about to share a secret. "I don't like my doctor," he whispered.

JJ laughed. "Yeah, I don't think Hotch likes him, either."

Spence frowned. "So then is 'Hotch' a nickname for 'Hotchner?'"

JJ nodded.

"Do you come up with nicknames for everybody?" he asked.

"Well, no—I mean, everyone calls him Hotch," she explained.

"Does everyone call me 'Spence?'"

"No, that's just me," she said.

He frowned. "That's very confusing."

She laughed. "Sorry. I'm going to send someone else from my team in to talk to you—is that okay?"

Reid frowned. "I'd prefer if you'd stay," he said solemnly, "You're the prettiest."

JJ laughed again. "Nice try. I'm going to send Rossi in; he's not as pretty as me, but be nice, okay?" Reid shrugged, as if he were indifferent, and so JJ returned to the hallway.

"You're smiling," Prentiss observed.

"Yes, well—I think he's had too many painkillers, or something. He kept telling me how 'pretty' I was, which the old Spence would _never-_"

"Damage to the frontal lobes of the brain could result in a change in personality," Morgan said, cutting in. "That's what the doctor told me." JJ's smile slid off her face—now, Spence's bold comments seemed much less adorable and much more foreboding.

"Well, I told him you were coming in," she muttered to Rossi. The older man nodded and started into the room.

"Hello, Dr. Reid," he said, smiling at the young man.

"Hello, Rossi," Reid replied. "Can you send JJ back in?"

"No," Rossi said, raising his eyebrows.

Reid sighed. "Figures. So, you work for the FBI, too?"

Rossi nodded. "Thirty years."

Reid smirked. "Makes sense. You're pretty old." Then he started examining the heart monitor again. Rossi frowned, surprised at how rude he was being. Reid was usually very respectful.

"How about I send someone else in?" Rossi offered; clearly, Reid was not interested in talking with him.

"Do you know how this works?" Reid demanded, sounding frustrated. "The doctor wouldn't tell me. I think it has something to do with the electrical signals sent by nerve impulses in the heart. I can't remember—I feel like I _should _know, but I _don't._" He gritted his teeth. "Oh! This thing—" he reached underneath his hospital gown towards his chest. "Yeah—like a belt, around my heart, so—oh, I've got it. Every time my heart beats, it sends an electrical impulse through this wire, which goes through this cord, onto the screen." He looked rather satisfied, then lay back down on the bed.

Rossi just stared at him, bemused. "Well, glad we've settled that, then," he remarked. Reid nodded. "Can you send JJ in?" he asked again. "Or one of the other pretty girls. I can _see_ them—they're all out there."

Wordlessly, Rossi turned around and went back into the hall. "Why don't you go on in, Garcia?" Rossi asked. As she made to go, Rossi put his hand on her arm. "He's not acting quite like himself. Just go with it." Garcia nodded hurriedly and started towards the room.

Garcia entered nervously. Reid didn't say anything when he saw her; just pursed his lips.

"Hey, there, Reid," she said.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"Penelope. But everyone calls me Garcia—it's my last name." She swallowed; it felt extremely strange to introduce herself to Reid, when she already had so many memories of him.

"Hi," he said. "Are we friends?"

"Are we—yes, of course!" she said quickly.

He nodded. "Okay," he said, "Well, if you're my _friend, _could you maybe ask the doctor if I could get out of here anytime soon? Or at least get me some coffee?"

Garcia felt tears welling up in her eyes. "You want coffee?" she asked joyfully.

"Um, well, if it's going to upset you that much, I'll just get it myself," he replied skittishly.

"No, no—I'll go ask right now!" Garcia said, then whirled around and went to find him coffee.

Prentiss frowned as she watched Garcia rush past them. "Um," she muttered. "Okay, I guess it's my turn." She entered Reid's room nervously, keeping her face neutral.

"Emily Prentiss," she said, holding her hand out to Reid and trying to pretend she wasn't introducing herself to one of her best friends.

"Hi, I'm Reid," he said cheerily. "Oh, well, you already know that," he muttered to himself.

"Yeah," she said. "So—how are you doing?"

He looked surprised by her question. "Well," he said, "I've just been introduced to six people who seem to know more about me than I do. So, weird, I guess…but okay. I guess I'm just relieved that I _have _a past, and that it's not all that…" he shuddered, "Blankness."

"What's it like?" she asked. "The blankness, I mean."

"Like I'm reading the last chapter of a book that I never started." A pause. "And I really should see my father. You know, this has been fun, but he'll be angry if I keep ignoring him like this."

She nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. "You know," she said, "He isn't _really_ your father."

Reid flinched. "D-don't say that," he stammered, "It's bad."

"It's the truth," she said.

He stared at her. "Please don't," he whispered.

"He's not your father, Reid, he's a criminal. Your father lives in—"

"I—ow!" he yelped, pressing his hands over his ears. "Emily Prentiss is very bad," he said, in a strange voice.

"What? I just—"

"Emily Prentiss is very bad." The heart monitor began to accelerate. "Emily Prentiss is very bad. Emily Prentiss is very bad. Emily Prentiss is very bad."

Prentiss backed away from the chanting youth, alarmed. "Doctor!" she shouted down the hall. The doctor came running.

"H-he was acting so normal," she stammered, "I just thought—"

"I _told _you not to upset him!" the doctor snapped. "Out! All of you! Go away!" After several minutes of futile protesting, the team was forced out of the wing by a group of nurses, leaving a chanting Reid alone in his room.

_*So on the upside, he's awake, and alive, and all those important things, on the downside, he's still kind of screwed up. I hope you enjoyed it, it wasn't as twisted as I'd usually like but oh well. Please review, tell me what you think!*_


	9. Chapter 9

_*As always, thanks to reviewers! You people are the coolest!*_

"There's just nothing _wrong _with him, per say," the doctor was saying. "His injuries are all cleared up. He can be discharged at any time. I mean, he's about as 'right' as he's going to get. Any damage remaining would be purely psychological."

Hotch frowned, glancing into Reid's room; it had been a week since they had all been kicked out of the hospital, and the doctor now only allowed them in one at a time. "So is there no chance he'll regain his memory?" he asked desperately. "And he's been acting so…different."

The doctor shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know what to say. It all depends on how many neurons and which parts of the brain were damaged most. I mean, on the upside, he seems to be relatively intellectually curious—" the doctor rolled his eyes, as if he didn't necessarily consider this an upside, "I mean, he won't stop asking me how the damn machines work. In fact, I think he's figured out how to _build _them all by now. So I think his IQ is unaffected. The most damage was probably to the frontal lobes—which is personality—"

"Is his personality affected _because _he lost his memory?" Hotch asked, wondering what they could do to trigger it again.

"Not really," the doctor said. "Do you know what a lobotomy is?"

Hotch pursed his lips. This didn't sound good.

"It was a procedure performed mostly during the 1940's and 1950's; if someone was a real nut case; violent, wild, uncontrollable; they would stick a metal skewer up through their eye and into the frontal part of the brain. Sometimes,the patients would become calmer and docile; other times, they would become worse; some would slip into comas, and—"

"I _know_ what it is," Hotch snapped, "What the hell does that have to do with Reid?"

The doctor looked like he was having fun. "Well, what they were _really_ doing; although they didn't know it then; was messing with the frontal lobes, which control personality and critical thinking. By interfering with that part of the brain, they would totally rearrange the person's method of thought. So _if _most of the damage was centered around the frontal lobes; which it could be; then _that _would explain the personality change."

Hotch swallowed. "But the bracelets were on his wrists—"

"Once the body is subjected to electrical current, there's no telling which part of the brain will be damaged the most." He paused. "But a personality change isn't exactly life threatening; so he should be good to go in terms of that. He still freaks out whenever anyone mentions his _father; _that's what conditioning will do to you; but you should be able to reverse it. I suggest therapy. As for the amnesia, it might or might not go away. We don't really know. But like the personality change; not life threatening. He should be able to function _relatively _normally." He smiled pleasantly. "Anything else?"

Hotch shook his head, at this point simply wanting the doctor to go away. Then he pushed past the man into Reid's room; the young man was arguing with a young nurse.

"Well, I asked for sugar, and you obviously didn't put any in, who the _hell_ drinks coffee without any—oh, hi Hotch," he said hurriedly, looking slightly guilty. The nurse hurried out, looking rather upset.

"That wasn't very nice," Hotch chastised him. "I thought I told you to be nice to the nurses. They'll eventually stop allowing you visitors."

"Sorry," Reid muttered, "Anyways—do you know when I can get out of this place? I want to see my apartment." Hotch had told him he had an apartment; but Reid had yet to visit it.

"The doctor said that you can be discharged any time now. He's says you're as healed as you're going to get."

Reid broke into a wide smile. "Great! Well—um, actually, I have a question," he said quickly.

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"You said I was an FBI agent, right? Well…do I still have a job? Or do I get compensation because I was hurt, or something? I probably got paid a lot."

"I have to talk to Strauss," Hotch said, although he was distressed that this new Reid seemed to care so much about his pay. _He's only thinking logically, _Hotch thought to himself. "If you regain your memory; and pass your psych evaluation; there's a chance that _eventually _you can get your job back. As for right now, _yes, _you will be compensated."

Reid grinned. "Good," he said. Then he paused again. "Can I see Tucker?" he asked hesitantly.

Hotch pursed his lips. Tucker had been moved to a temporary psychiatric care unit while he and Buchannan awaited trial; the young man had admitted point blank to helping abduct all of the other young men, including Reid.

"I don't think that's the best idea right now," Hotch said carefully. Reid didn't look happy; but he just shrugged, consenting.

They arrived at Reid's apartment later that night; the new Reid had apparently taken to Hotch more than any of his other team members, so it was decided that Hotch would be the one to bring him home. "Ready?" Hotch asked, standing outside the door.

Reid nodded eagerly.

Hotch unlocked the door, and Reid pushed past him into the apartment. "Cool," he muttered immediately. He looked around in wonder. "I like to read," he said, in dazed realization as he surveyed the books lying on the floor.

Hotch nodded tensely, waiting anxiously for some sort of memory to resurface. Reid picked up one of the books and began flipping through. Hotch peered over his shoulder, and felt relief wash over him as he saw Reid's finger flying down the pages with the same speed as before.

"Want to see your kitchen?" Hotch offered, willing to do anything to try and spark some more memories. Reid shut the book and followed him into his kitchen.

Hotch opened the fridge.

"What, am I anorexic?" Reid asked, sounding irritated. It was empty save a half filled bottle of apple juice and a pack of pudding.

"Probably just too busy to buy food," Hotch said. "Coffee machine," he said, pointing at the one plugged into the counter.

"Hope it's better than the stuff in the hospital," Reid said, making a face.

"You bought a new coffee machine for our break room," Hotch said, "Two weeks after we hired you."

"Sounds about right," Reid muttered, turning back towards the living room.

Hotch sighed. "Are you remembering anything? Any…traces of familiarity?"

Reid shook his head. "Nothing," he muttered, discouraged.

"It's alright," Hotch said, "We'll take you back to the office, see if that helps."

"Right," Reid muttered, turning towards the bedroom. Hotch let him go, choosing instead to stay and look at the books on the floor. He rifled through, looking for something akin to a diary; if _that_ didn't spark the memories, he didn't know what would.

"Hey Reid, did you keep a…?" he trailed off, realizing that he wouldn't remember. "Never mind," he muttered, feeling like an idiot.

Reid reemerged from the bedroom. "Do I have any friends?" he asked Hotch suddenly.

"…what?"

"Well, I mean, nobody came to visit me in the hospital besides the team, and you're my coworkers." Reid folded his arms.

"I…well…" Hotch cleared his throat. "The job is very demanding. A lot of us don't have time to form personal relationships with others. But the team _are _your friends."

Reid narrowed his eyes, but then nodded and returned into the bedroom. "Who was I _best_ friends with?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Hotch asked.

"Who did I get along with best? If you're all my friends, I mean." He reappeared. "Sorry if this is weird. But I just…" he trailed off.

"No, it's alright," Hotch muttered. "Probably JJ. I suppose Emily, to an extent."

"Oh," Reid said, looking surprised. "Girls."

"And Morgan," Hotch added.

Reid made a face.

"It was a love-hate relationship," Hotch added. Reid laughed and went back into his room.

"You had…a mentor," Hotch added, "Gideon."

"Gidawhat?"

"Gideon. He brought you into the FBI."

"So he retired, or something?" Reid asked. "Ugh; my drawers are a mess!"

"You could say that," Hotch said carefully. He ransacked his brain for anything else he needed to tell Reid about his life. "You have a godson—oh, JJ already told you. Hmm. You know about your mother, your father…" he trailed off. "You should visit your mother," he said suddenly, "That might trigger some childhood memories."

"Right-O," Reid said from the other room.

"Let me think. You had teammates named Elle Greenaway and Ashley Seaver; they both left, though." Hotch ran his hands through his hair.

"Did I ever shoot anybody?" When Hotch didn't answer immediately, Reid poked his head out again.

"Yes," Hotch said carefully, "You're an FBI agent. Of course you have. How are those drawers going?" He didn't want to bring up subjects like Philip Dowd and Tobias Hankel just yet.

"Ah, they're going—oh, shit!"

"What? What is it?" Hotch demanded. When Reid didn't answer, he pushed his way into the bedroom.

He came face to face with a very guilty looking Reid, who had his hands behind his back. "It's nothing," he said. "I shut my fingers in the drawers."

"What did you find?" Hotch demanded. "Show me your hands."

"None of your business!" Reid snapped.

"Show them to me now," Hotch demanded. Slowly, Reid brought his hands forward and opened them, revealing a pair of glass vials with a colorless liquid inside them.

"What the hell?" Hotch shouted angrily, "You were supposed to stop!"

Reid didn't answer, staring wordlessly at the vials.

"I covered for you," Hotch ranted, "This is unbelievable.

"Am I a druggie or something?" Reid looked very concerned.

"You're not _supposed _to be," Hotch hissed.

"Ah, well, I don't _feel_ like a druggie," he said.

Hotch snatched them away. "Give those to me," he snapped. He wished that Reid would get his memory back already so that he could yell at him properly.

"No! Don't take them! I—oh!" Reid looked dazed for a moment, then fearful.

"What is it?" Hotch asked.

"He's going to punish me," Reid whimpered.

"Reid, I already told you, Christopher Buchannan is in custody and—"

"I didn't want it." He took a step back from Hotch. "He m-made me. I apologized, but—he's going to _kill _me."

Hotch froze, his heart accelerating suddenly. "Who is?" Reid swallowed nervously, his pupils dilating.

"Raphael."

Morgan put a hand up to stop a chattering Garcia. "Hold on a second, baby girl," he said, "Its Hotch." He answered the phone quickly. "What's up, Hotch? Is Reid okay?"

"I think he's remembering," Hotch said. Morgan stood up quickly, almost knocking over the chair.

"Seriously?"

"He started talking about his experience with Hankel; he mentioned 'Raphael.' I tried to get more but he just stopped speaking after that; now he's completely ignoring me. I don't know how much he remembers. He's sitting on the couch now—maybe you should come over here."

"What triggered it?" Morgan asked, excited.

There was silence.

"Hotch?"

"He found Dilaudid in one of his bedroom drawers."

Morgan swallowed. "Oh," he said, unsure whether or not this was good news. Then he decided that he was. "Me and Garcia are coming over now. See you soon, Hotch." And he hung up the phone, unable to stop the huge smile spreading across his face. Maybe he would get his friend back after all.

_*So yeah, things are looking up, aren't they? Again, not as twisted as I'd like…don't worry, I'll try to make up for it later. Everyone enjoy the new episode tonight (I know I will.) Oh, and reviews bring sunshine and happiness to the world.*_


	10. Chapter 10

_*Thank you to readers and reviewers! You bring sunshine and happiness to the world! And I apologize in advance for any typos in this chapter, it has not been proof read.*_

Morgan knocked hesitantly on the door. "Reid?" he called. Garcia was standing behind him with a gigantic plate of cookies, which she had insisted would somehow help trigger his memory.

"Reid? Hotch?" Morgan knocked louder, and several moments later his supervisor opened the door.

"Come in," he said; he looked tense.

"How's he doing?" Morgan asked, stepping inside.

"He won't talk to me." Hotch pursed his lips. Reid sat on the couch, his head in his hands, his foot bouncing sporadically.

"Kid?" Morgan asked, slowly approaching Reid. "How's it going?"

Reid ignored him.

"He's been like this for the past hour," Hotch muttered, "Ever since he mentioned Raphael."

They all stood there in silence, staring at Reid, who seemed completely oblivious to their presence.

"What do we do?" Garcia asked. "Should we take him back to the hospital?"

Hotch shook his head. "Not yet."

Morgan approached him slowly. Reid made no indication that he noticed Morgan, except that his foot began to accelerate. "Reid, it's me," Morgan said, "Garcia made you cookies, to help you remember. Doesn't that sound good?"

Nothing.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Morgan reached out to put his hand on Reid's shoulder.

"Morgan! Don't!" Hotch hissed.

Morgan swallowed nervously. "It's alright," he said. "It'll snap him out of it."

"He doesn't like being touched!" Hotch said.

Morgan ignored him. His hand inched forward cautiously, so as not to startle Reid; and it finally came to rest on his teammate's shoulder.

The shaking foot stopped. There was silence for a moment. "Reid?" Morgan asked hopefully.

"GET OFF!" Reid leapt to his feet, causing Morgan to call out and stumble backwards in surprise.

"Ah! Okay! Sorry!" Morgan said nervously, holding his hands up. "We were just worried, kid!"

Reid's eyes darted around anxiously. "I was _trying _to _remember,"_ he spat viciously.

"Okay! You could have said something!" Morgan said.

Reid sat back down on the couch. He stared at the floor, and there was a very tense silence. "Did you save them?" he asked suddenly.

Morgan frowned. "Who?"

"The couple. The couple that I told Raphael to kill." Reid swallowed.

"What do you remember, Reid?" Hotch said, cutting into the conversation.

Reid swallowed. "Raphael is angry. He says I'm a sinner, and that I should choose one of them to die. So I chose one to live instead, and…" he trailed off angrily, "I don't _remember _the rest!"

"Anything else?" Hotch demanded.

Reid screwed his eyes up in concentration. "He was hitting me. Playing Russian Roulette. And…it feels like I'm being watched." He swallowed nervously. "That's all."

"Really? That's all?" Hotch sounded disbeliving.

Reid allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. "Well, there's the drugs," he admitted.

Hotch nodded. "Alright," he said.

Reid shrugged. "That's all."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "It's been an hour, Reid," he said, "Are you telling me that's all you remembered?"

Reid stared at the ground for several moments; his foot started to bounce again. "No," he admitted eventually.

"Well?" Hotch prompted, obviously not in the mood to play games.

Reid swallowed. "I think some of them are private," he muttered.

"You look upset," Morgan said, cutting in. Reid ignored him, his eyes fixated on Hotch.

"You don't have to tell us," Hotch said carefully, "But it would certainly help. We could fill in the blank spots."

Reid shook his head quickly. "I'll figure it out for myself," he muttered.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to Morgan. "You're twelve years old," he began, "And Harper Hillman tells you that Alexa Lisbon wants to meet you behind the school."

Reid froze, his eyes widening. "How do you know that?" he snapped.

"You told me," Morgan said, raising his eyebrows.

"I wouldn't have…wouldn't have told _you_ that," Reid muttered at the ground.

Morgan felt a pang of resentment he tried to ignore. "Well, you did," he said, "We were friends."

Reid put his head in his hands again. They were all quiet for a long time, and Hotch and Garcia went into Reid's kitchen with the cookies. Morgan sat down on the couch beside Reid.

"I'm glad you're remembering," Morgan said, "Even if it hurts. Because _you_ might not be so thrilled with me right now, but _I_ want my friend back."

Reid snorted in sarcastic laugher. "What's so funny?" Morgan demanded.

"I was remembering…that night," Reid muttered, "The night I left your house. When I met Tucker."

Morgan tensed up. "Reid, you have no idea how bad I—"

"It's funny," Reid said quickly, "I was so excited that I had made a friend, you know? That somebody actually liked me." He swallowed. "From what I'm remembering, it didn't happen often. And it almost got me killed."

"Don't be stupid," Morgan said instinctively.

"Oh, I'm not stupid, actually. In fact, I'm an insufferable know-it-all." He nodded. "Which is why nobody but my coworkersseemed to care that I went missing."

"Don't do this," Morgan said. "Its good that you're remembering, and—"

"I was happier when I didn't remember," Reid murmured, "But now I can't stop."

"It'll get better—you'll see," Morgan said, clapping his hand on Reid's shoulder, "You're just remembering all of the bad parts now."

"No, I think I'm just remembering my _life_, and it _sucks."_ Reid pouted.

"Now you're just being a baby," Morgan said, chuckling. Reid rolled his eyes. "Come on. Garcia made you cookies."

He grinned a strange, lopsided grin; it wasn't the same grin that he had seen on the _old _Reid; but it was hauntingly familiar all the same. "Well—it's just weird," Reid muttered, making no move to get up. "It's like it doesn't fit together. It doesn't make sense. It's all in bits and pieces and—" he broke off.

"What is it?" Morgan asked.

"You owe me twelve dollars," Reid said suddenly.

"What? No I don't!"

"Yes, yes you do!" Reid said, "You owe me twelve dollars from when I bought you lunch in Nebraska. It was twelve oh five but I said I'd knock off the five cents and then you said that you'd pay me back as soon as we landed and then_ I_ said I bet you wouldn't and then _you _said you were a man of your word, but then _I _said—"

"Woah! Okay! Stop!" Morgan said, "Here, have twelve dollars!" He pulled out his wallet and threw the money into Reid's lap, trying to keep the amused smile from his face.

"About time," Reid muttered. "You're lucky I didn't charge interest. You'd owe me fifty dollars and seventeen cents by now." Then he stood up and walked into the kitchen, with a bewildered Morgan trailing behind him, shaking his head, but feeling better than he had in weeks.

Hotch noticed Morgan's smile and returned it, unwrapping the cookies. He was about to ask what they had been talking about when his phone rang. He glanced at it; he didn't recognize the number, but answered just in case.

"Hotchner."

The voice on the other end sounded panicked. "Aaron Hotchner? BAU?"

"That's right," Hotch said, "What's the problem?"

"You arrested a man a week ago…"

"Christopher Buchannan?" Hotch asked. Everyone's heads snapped up.

"No," the other voice said, "Not him. The other one…his name is Tucker?"

Hotch frowned. "What about Tucker?"

"He's run off."

"He's what?"

"He's run off. A nurse was taking him for a walk and he stabbed her in the hip and ran away."

Hotch frowned. "How could they let that happen?"

"Well…the nurse said he hadn't been violent till them. Confused, sure. But not violent. And he never tried to run before. They thought it'd be nice to give him some air." The person on the other end sounded very distressed. "Anyways, the nurse is fine, but she said he told her he was going to 'find his brother.' I called your headquarters, and they sent me to you."

Hotch massaged his temple. This was not what they needed right now. "How did he get a knife?"

"It was a scalpel, sir. We're not sure how he got it. Probably took it from one of the nurses' tables when they weren't looking. He was a very low security threat. In fact, we were all kind of fond of him."

Hotch sighed. "How long ago did this happen?" he demanded.

"About an hour ago. We had to get the nurse to the hospital and then track down your number."

Hotch frowned. "We'll find him," he said, "He can't have gone far."

"That's what we figured, sir. He seems like a nice boy. A bit confused about things, but a—"

"Yes, thank you," Hotch said, shutting his phone, not in the mood to converse with the hospital staff for longer than necessary. "Tucker ran away from the psychiatric care unit where he was being held," he explained to Morgan, glancing sideways at Reid.

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Fantastic," he muttered. Reid just stared, his expression terrified.

"Don't worry," Hotch said, "We'll keep him away from you."

"He isn't in danger, is he?" Reid asked hurriedly. Hotch sighed.

"We'll all be safer once we find him," he said, "But as of right now, I doubt he's any real danger." He decided not to mention the nurse until Reid was out of earshot.

"I can help find him," Reid said eagerly, "He probably just went back to our house. I bet—"

"No," Hotch cut in suddenly. "You're staying here, with Morgan."

"But—"

"No complaining. You won't be returning to duty for a very long time, considering you're just getting your memory back."

"But I can help—"

"No," Hotch said, with a tone of finality. He turned towards Morgan. "Stay here with Reid," he said, "I need Garcia to look up as much as possible on Tucker's past so we can find out who he was before he met Buchannan." Morgan nodded. Hotch then put his hand on Morgan's shoulder and led him casually into the other room, out of earshot of Reid and Garcia.

"Something else?" Morgan guessed.

"He stabbed a nurse. And he told her he was going to find Reid." Morgan nodded gravely, as if he had expected as much.

"Stay here. Chances are, Tucker won't be able to find him, but just in case." Hotch made to go and get Garcia so that they could leave; but then he paused.

"What is it?" Morgan asked.

Hotch glanced back to again ensure that Reid wasn't paying attention; he seemed busy eating Garcia's cookies. "Check the house for more drugs," he whispered, "Addicts usually store them in three or four different places. It'd be good to find them before he remembers where he put them." Morgan nodded again, and they both returned to the kitchen.

"So," Morgan said to Reid, once the other two had left and they were seated on the couch, "What do you want to do? Watch Star Trek? It was your favorite."

Reid frowned. "It was?" he asked.

"See, look at all of the good memories that have yet to come," Morgan teased. Reid rolled his eyes.

"So," he said casually, "Are you going to check my house for drugs _now, _or later?"

Morgan grimaced. "Come on, Reid, we're just looking out for you."

Reid fiddled with the strings on the couch. "I wasn't on it, you know," he said, "I just had them there for safekeeping. I remember now."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Right."

Reid narrowed his eyes, offended. "You don't believe me?"

"I do, I do," Morgan said quickly. "Let's not talk about it right now. So, should we start with episode one?"

They spent the next couple of hours watching Star Trek, which Reid seemed to enjoy immensely. Morgan, on the other hand, started to get a headache after about twenty minutes. He left Reid there around nine o'clock, going into the kitchen to get a snack. When he returned, Reid was curled up on the couch, fast asleep.

Morgan smiled, shaking his friend awake. "You'll get a stiff neck sleeping like that," he said.

"Ah, fuck you," Reid muttered. Morgan's mouth fell open; Reid had never used language like that before.

"Wow, touchy," he said.

Reid didn't move, and Morgan was beginning to wonder if he would have to carry Reid to bed. Then he rolled over, stretching out.

"So Tucker stabbed his nurse?"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "So you basically heard the entire conversation."

"I think that it's unfair how Tucker gets to do whatever he wants," Reid said, yawning, "I mean, _I_ wanted to stab _my_ doctor, but I _didn't."_

Morgan chuckled. "Time for bed, Reid." He helped Reid to his feet and the boy reluctantly made his way into the bedroom. Morgan returned to the couch, immediately changing the channel and shifting into a comfortable position. Just as he was about to doze off, his phone started to buzz.

"What, Hotch?" he muttered.

"He wasn't at Buchannan's house," Hotch said, sounding grave.

"That's weird. Where do you think he's gone?" Morgan yawned, rolling over.

"Well, we don't know. But what we do know is that approximately a half hour ago a teenager was stabbed to death with a medical scalpel two blocks from where you are now."

Morgan moaned, putting his face in his hands. "You've got to be kidding me."

"We have no idea where he is now, so keep a lookout," Hotch hurriedly. Morgan nodded sleepily, forcing himself to sit up. "Oh, and don't tell Reid."

"Of course not," Morgan muttered bitterly, "Goodnight, Hotch." He sighed, then went to the kitchen to make some coffee. It was going to be a long night.

_*So now I get to have some more twisted and evil stuff happen, which should be fun. There hasn't been enough in the past couple of chapters. Reviews would be fantastic (of course!) I love to know what people think.*_


	11. Chapter 11

_*Thank you to reviewers!*_

Morgan grasped his friend's shoulder, shaking hard. "Reid," he said, "You have to wake up."

Reid rolled over and buried his head in the pillow.

"I'm serious, Reid. Get up."

Reid didn't respond, but just continued to snore. Morgan glanced at the clock; it was nine in the morning.

"Reid, we've got a lot to do today." Morgan knew that he could get called on a case at any minute; he wanted to at least make sure that Reid had _food_ in his house. He felt like he somehow owed it to him. "We can go back to the office, too," Morgan said, "That might help you remember a bit."

Reid's eyes barely flicked open. "What office?" he muttered.

"The BAU office," Morgan replied..

"What's the BAU?" Reid asked. Morgan froze, frowning. "Reid," he began. He pointed to himself. "It's Morgan."

"What's a Morgan?" Reid mumbled into the pillow.

Morgan grabbed Reid's arm and pulled him up. "Stop playing games, man!" he hissed angrily.

Reid tried to pull his arm away. "Where am I?" he asked, his pupils dilating in fear.

"You're home!" Morgan felt panic rising in his stomach. "You're in your bed!"

"But I—oh," Reid stopped speaking as realization dawned on his face. Then he said, "Derek Morgan."

Morgan nodded slowly. "What happened?" he asked, as Reid sat up.

"You startled me," he muttered. "It's all confused after I wake up. When did I get home?"

"Yesterday," Morgan said, "Remember?"

Reid was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he nodded. "Right," he said, "With the drugs."

Morgan nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry," Reid mumbled, "It's just all screwed up again. My head, I mean." He put his face in his hands. "It's just—I'm all fucked up."

"You'll feel better after you have some coffee," Morgan said with determination, helping the young man out of bed.

"Okay," Reid muttered, "Thanks, Derek." Morgan frowned at the young man as he got to his feet. He wondered how much he _actually_ remembered, and how much he was pretending to remember—Reid had never called him "Derek" before now.

They sat in silence eating their breakfast; which consisted of pudding cups and cookies, since Reid apparently didn't have anything else. Morgan couldn't help but glance at the door every few moments. Hotch had called him to notify him that there had been no sign of Tucker since the murder last night. Morgan had barely slept; he was too paranoid, worried that at any moment the brown haired youth would burst through the door.

"You look worried," Reid said.

"No, I'm not," Morgan said quickly. "I just had a tough night, you know."

Reid looked concerned. "Where did you sleep?" he asked.

"One the couch."

"Was it uncomfortable?" Reid asked sharply.

Morgan shook his head. "I was fine," he said.

"You could sleep in my bed, with me," Reid offered.

Morgan raised his eyebrows, fighting back a laugh.

"Would that be weird?" Reid asked, as if this had only just occurred to him.

Morgan nodded. "Yeah, kind of."

"S-sorry," Reid muttered, looking embarrassed. "But me and my brother would sleep in the same bed sometimes, that's why I thought of it."

Morgan frowned. "You mean you and _Tucker_."

Reid nodded. "Yeah," he said, extending his spoon into the pudding cup.

"Tucker isn't your brother, Reid," Morgan reminded him.

The spoon stopped. He was silent for a long moment. "I know!" he said eventually. "I misspoke, that's all."

Morgan folded his arms and leaned across the table. "Hey," he said, "Cut this out. You can trust me. If you don't remember something, or you're confused, just tell me and we'll get it sorted out. You don't need to pretend."

Reid finished his pudding cup in silence. "It's just in the mornings," he said eventually, "It takes awhile for it all to come back."

Morgan nodded. "Of course," he said. After breakfast, Reid went to take a shower, so Morgan called Hotch.

"Any news?" Morgan asked quickly.

"Nothing," Hotch replied darkly. "We can't find him. Garcia thinks she's beginning to narrow down his identity, though."

"That's good," Morgan said.

"How's Reid?" Hotch asked.

Morgan bit his lip. "He's alright," he said. "He _wants _to remember. And he wants _us _to think he remembers. He's still pretty confused, though. He didn't even know who I was when he first woke up. He says that he can't remember very well in the mornings."

"That's probably common with retrograde amnesia," Hotch said, although the other man still sounded worried.. "I'm sure he'll be fine eventually."

"Right," Morgan muttered, "Eventually."

Hotch shut the phone, pocketing it, then turned back to the case file. He was utterly bewildered. It didn't make any sense; when did Tucker go from the friendly, cautious youth who he had first met to a violent killer who stabbed teenagers with medical scalpels? He put his head in his hands. He just wanted this case to be _over, _so that they could all get back to their lives.

His phone buzzed, so he took it out again, glancing at the caller ID. "What have you got, Garcia?" he asked.

"Well," she said, sounding surprisingly cheerful considering the circumstances, "I've got an identity, for starters."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Oh, it's definitely our boy. Tucker Davies has lived in DC his whole life…he was on the honor roll at his public high school until he mysteriously dropped out midway through tenth grade. No _biological_ father in the picture here; oh! Mom was sick," she said, "She died of cancer when Tucker was seventeen. That's when he disappeared. His older sister filed a missing persons report a week later."

"A whole week?" Hotch asked.

"She claims she thought he had run away…"

"What's his sister's name?" Hotch demanded.

"Miranda Davies, but don't get your hopes up. She died of a drug overdose a year ago." He heard some furious typing.

"So Tucker is almost eighteen around the time Buchannan's son dies," Hotch muttered, "Which is what gets him abducted. After a few years, he sends Tucker back to school…" Hotch trailed off. "Now that Buchannan is gone, Tucker is in crisis. He's panicking. We need to find out where he would go." Hotch bit his tongue, thinking. "Are there any other living family members?"

"Doesn't look like it, sir," Garcia said, "But I'll keep looking."

"Thanks, Garcia," Hotch muttered shutting his phone. He was about to call Morgan, but the phone went off again before he could even dial the number. Gritting his teeth, he answered hurriedly.

"Hotchner."

"Agent Hotchner, another body has been found in a motel three blocks from the last crime scene." The police detective sounded tense.

Hotch wanted to moan in frustration. "Another teenager?"

"Fifteen year old boy, sir," the man said. "He had been choked to death and stabbed eighteen times post mortem. This time the scalpel was left at the scene."

Hotch put his face in his hands. "We'll get down there now," he said, "Thanks, detective."

_*So things are getting a bit more fun. Sorry it was short, but I hope you liked it anyways—reviews are, like always, quite appreciated."_


	12. Chapter 12

_Many many thanks to reviewers! I hope everyone likes this chapter.*_

Reid walked towards the cart where Derek Morgan was waiting for him, clutching two boxes of cereal under his arms. The older man raised his eyebrows as his colleague approached.

"What?" Reid asked, concerned that he'd done something wrong. Again.

"We already have cereal," Derek Morgan said. "You put some in the cart a few minutes ago. You were supposed to get _milk._"

Reid looked at the cart. "Right. Sorry. I'll go put it back." He turned around, shaking his head. _Had _he already gotten cereal? He couldn't remember. His mind had been immersed in memories of his childhood lately; every few minutes, another one would resurface.

"_You're home late again!" His mother was standing over him, her expression livid._

"_I'm, not mom," Spencer said, "It's two o'clock. This is when I always come home."_

"_You're lying to me. They don't _like _it when you lie, Spencer!" _

Reid shook his head, trying to dispel the memory. Sighing, he went into the cereal aisle and put the boxes back on the shelf. He turned around, wondered where Derek Morgan had left the cart, then abruptly forgot what he had been doing in the first place.

He stood there for several minutes, immeasurably frustrated with himself. "Think logically," he muttered. Everything would be fine if he just thought things through _logically._

Well, he _was _in the bread and cereal aisle; had already had bread, so he had probably been looking for cereal. Reid grabbed two boxes of cereal and off the shelf and returned to the cart.

It was like that for the rest of the shopping trip. Eventually, Derek Morgan told Reid to just wait at the cart while he got all of the food.

On the ride back, Derek Morgan started talking about things that he thought Reid should remember. "All the important things," he said. One of them was a girl named "Lila Archer."

"Who?" Reid asked immediately.

"It was this blond actress who was being stalked; we were assigned to protect her. You and her kind of had a 'thing.'" He formed quotations in the air with his fingers.

Reid frowned, thinking, but no memory of "Lila Archer" came to him. Instead, another one emerged.

_He was speaking, trying to give them information about the case. "…you should see what pops up whenever you type the word 'death' into a search engine."_

"_Reid, man, no wonder you can't get a date!" Derek Morgan called from the other side of the plane._

Reid glared up at the man who was seated next to him now. "What?" Derek Morgan asked.

Reid just shook his head.

Hotch was trying not to be nauseated by the body lying on the bed in front of him. Bruise marks covered the boy's throat; he had stab wounds all over his body, and one of his eyes had been gouged out of the socket. The other eye seemed to be staring directly at Hotch; to him, it seemed almost accusatory. Hotch turned towards the wall, away from the body. He sucked in a breath.

"Overkill," Prentiss said from several feet over, "That's a lot of rage. He died of suffocation, but Tucker still felt the need to do—well, _this." _She gestured towards the boy's disfigured face.

"It doesn't make sense," Hotch muttered, "Tucker Davies doesn't profile as a violent psychotic. Confused, damaged, emotionally scarred…but nothing that would suggest _this _level of…" he trailed off.

"This boy fits the same victimology as the other teenager that was killed," Prentiss remarked from the other side of the room. "This kid has brown hair, brown eyes; skinny; fifteen years old. The other one was exactly the same, except _seventeen_ years old."

Hotch froze. "They're him," he realized suddenly.

"What?" Prentiss asked.

Hotch frowned. "His violence isn't directed at others; that's why we didn't see it. It's all directed inwards. He's killing teenage versions of himself."

Prentiss frowned, then started nodding in agreement. "They're all around the same age as Tucker when he was abducted."

"They look like him, too," Hotch remarked. "When Tucker was admitted to the psychiatric ward, he began to _realize _what Buchannan had done to him—and now he's blaming himself. He's ending their lives when he believes that _his _life ended. And years of torture have warped his reality to the extent that this—" he gestured towards the body, "Is the only way he's able to express himself."

Prentiss nodded. "Now that he sees that Buchannan isn't his father, he's in a state of panic where he doesn't know what's real and what isn't."

"We need to find out exactly what happened to him after he was abducted," Hotch said, "The details. They might tell us where he could have gone. It could be similar to what happened to Reid—but it could be different, as well, as it was ten years earlier—Buchannan was just starting out."

Prentiss sighed. "So we need to interview Buchannan again," she muttered. "That should be fun."

Hotch nodded grimly and started for the door.

"Reid, where are you going?"

Reid paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Um…" Shit. Where _was_ he going?

"Reid, man, you can't just wander aimlessly around. Not until we've caught Tucker."

But he remembered! "I was going to see if I had any mail," Reid said, "I haven't checked it since I've gotten back." He grinned triumphantly, pleased at how rational he sounded.

"I'll go with you," Morgan offered.

"What are you, my babysitter?" Reid asked. "I'm just going to go get my _mail."_

Morgan looked hesitant, but eventually nodded. "Alright, go ahead," he muttered. However, about thirty seconds after Reid had left Morgan opened the door and peered out after the young man. He watched Reid talking to the receptionist; then his phone started buzzing.

He answered it quickly. "Hey, Hotch," he muttered.

"How's Reid?" Hotch asked immediately.

Morgan frowned. "He's okay. Still pretty confused. I think it'll get better." He ducked back inside the apartment as Reid turned around and looked in his direction. "Did you get anything on Tucker?"

"We thinking he's killing teenagers who represent younger versions of himself," Hotch told him.

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "That's a new one. How does Reid tie into that?"

"We're not sure. He might _not _tie into it." He heard his supervisor having a muffled conversation with someone at the other end of the phone. "He told the nurse he was looking for his 'brother,' though, and all of the attacks have been centered near where Reid lives. We don't know _exactly _what he's going through, but just…be careful."

Morgan opened the door to check on Reid again; the result being him nearly smashing heads with the young doctor, who had been simultaneously trying to enter the apartment.

"Damnit, Morgan! Were you spying on me?" Reid demanded.

"Gotta go, Hotch," Morgan muttered, shutting his phone. "You were taking a long time, that's all," he said to Reid.

"I was gone for _two _minutes." Reid looked even more agitated than usual.

"Looks like you've got a lot of mail, there," Morgan said, trying to distract him.

It worked. Reid glanced down at the pile of letters in his arms. "Most of them are from my mom," he admitted, looking embarrassed.

"Hotch informed her hospital of what had happened," Morgan said.

"Yeah, well, doesn't seem like she listened to them," Reid said, "I'm pretty sure she sent me a letter for every day I've been gone."

Morgan grinned as Reid moved towards the couch. "Moms can be like that," he said. Reid dumped them on the sofa and then started to walk away.

"Aren't you going to read them?" Morgan asked.

Reid shrugged. "I don't really want to," he said. Then he disappeared into his bedroom and slammed the door.

Morgan raised his eyebrows, then went into the kitchen, hoping that Reid's new temperament would eventually go away. He started making them both sandwiches; maybe Reid was just hungry. After all, he'd eaten nothing but two cookies and a pudding cup since he'd gotten back from the hospital. He reached towards the radio, going from station to station. What music did Reid like? Classical? Morgan grimaced. Well, Reid probably wouldn't remember, anyways. Morgan settled for _his _favorite station and resumed the sandwich making.

It was the very loud, obnoxious music that drew Reid out of his room. He frowned when he saw its source; then proceeded towards the door. He needed to get away from all the noise; besides, he needed to pick up his mail. Quickly, he slipped past the kitchen and out the door, shutting it softly behind him.

After Morgan finished the sandwiches, he knocked on Reid's door. It didn't open. "Reid! I have sandwiches!" he shouted.

No response.

"Hey, man, I know you're angry, but you're probably just hungry. I made peanut butter."

Nothing.

"Reid! Stop acting like a dumb kid and open the door!" Annoyed, Morgan put his hand on the doorknob and turned it; it was unlocked. "Oh," he muttered, and pushed his way into the room.

It was empty. Morgan peered into the bathroom; empty as well. "Shit," he muttered. He wrenched his phone out of his pocket and dialed Reid's number; he heard the ringing moments later. Reid had left his phone behind. Fantastic.

Morgan tried to remain calm as he half walked, half ran down the hallway and into the reception area. "Hey," he said to the receptionist, "Did Spencer Reid come by here a little while ago? I mean, after he picked up his mail."

She frowned, then nodded. "About ten minutes ago."

"Where'd he go?" Morgan asked.

"Well, he asked for his mail again but I told him I'd already given it to him. Then he got this confused look on his face and went outside."

"You just _let _him?" Morgan asked.

"Was I supposed to stop him?" she asked innocently.

"Which way did he go?" Morgan demanded.

She shrugged. "I don't remember, I just saw him walk out the door. I don't pay attention to those kinds of things, you know. I'm a very busy per—"

"Alright, thanks," Morgan muttered, turning away and walking out the front door. He looked around; there was no sign of Reid anywhere. "Shit," he muttered again, then called Hotch.

"Hotchner."

"Hotch, we have a problem," Morgan said.

"What?"

"I lost Reid."

There was a long silence. "What do you mean you 'lost' Reid?"

"Well, I don't know where he is."

"What? There's a psychotic killer that may or may not be looking for him, and you don't know where he is?" Hotch sounded beyond irritated; he was furious. "Oh, and you _may_ or may not be interested in this, but they just found _another_ teenaged old boy choked to death a block from where you live, and _he _was in his _apartment_."

Morgan felt a jolt of panic. "He wandered off down the street or something," he said, putting his hand on his head and scanning the sidewalks.

"Why would he do that?" Hotch asked sharply.

"I don't know. The receptionist said he looked pretty confused." Morgan waited for his supervisor to say something. "I was making lunch and he just walked away."

"Well, FIND him, Morgan! I don't have time for this!" Hotch snapped. The line went dead. Morgan groaned and looked around, frustrated. Why did Reid always have to make things so difficult?

Reid was having a very nice walk. It was a beautiful day out, and it was certainly better than listening to whatever distasteful music Morgan had been playing back at the apartment. He couldn't _exactly _remember what he had started out walking for, but he was sure it would come to him eventually.

Reid watched as a car with very loud police sirens whizzed past; he wondered what it was for. _Seeing as 69.8 percent of all accidents are vehicle related, it's probably a car crash._ Reid smiled to himself as this familiar statistic popped into his head. Now, if only he could remember where he was walking to…

Shrugging it off, Reid turned a corner and continued walking as more and more police cars zoomed by him. He couldn't help the nagging suspicion that he was in some sort of danger. _Well, if there are this many police around, I'm probably pretty safe,_ Reid reasoned, as another car zoomed by.

Hotch couldn't tear his eyes away from the body.

"Hotch, you need to come in here." Prentiss' voice wavered. Hotch wrenched his gaze from the boy lying in front of him and followed her into the next room. She was staring in the closet; her expression one of extreme disgust. Hotch moved to where she was standing, and the sight in front of him made his mouth fall open.

It was another boy; several years older than the first one, but similar in appearance. This attack was twice as gruesome as the first one; the boy's face had literally been torn apart. Both eyes were stabbed out this time; half of the mouth had been ripped off, and it was difficult to see the skin because his face was so obscured by blood. But that wasn't even what caused Hotch's hands begin to tremble; it was the chest. Three words had been carved into the boy's skin.

_Brothers stick together._

_*So…yeah! Things are kind of getting kind of bad. Review please, tell me what you think!*_


	13. Chapter 13

"_Virtual cookies to anyone who reviewed! _

Reid still couldn't remember where he was going.

He tried to recall what he had been thinking when he'd left the apartment complex. Well, he had wanted to get away from Derek Morgan's music. He had also wanted to get his mail.

"_Sorry, Dr. Reid, I already gave it to you."_

Reid frowned. Alright. So he had already gotten his mail. But _then _what had happened?

He had remembered walking outside. There had been a sense of urgency about the whole thing.

Reid massaged his head. He felt like an idiot.

_No, think, _he scolded himself, _You know this. It's in there somewhere. You remember everything. You have an eidetic memory._

He tried to ignore his brain kicking in and informing him that he'd _had _an eidetic memory _before_ electricity had fucked with his mind, and even if he _still _had an eidetic memory that was only in relation to things he _read_.

"Shut up!" Reid shouted, causing several passers-by to give him strange looks. Reid felt his face reddening as he focused on the ground, but kept walking. At that point, he got the strangest sensation that someone was watching him; he turned around and looked, but couldn't distinguish anyone particular in the crowd.

_It's all these people staring at me,_ he thought to himself, _If I can get somewhere where I can sit and think by myself, everything will come back to me._ He ignored the fact that this thought was not one hundred percent rational and turned down one of the less crowded alley ways. He needed to _think._

Tucker couldn't believe how unlucky he was. His brother was in plain sight; he was _right there, _on the other side of the street_; _but he couldn't get to him. "Spencer!" he shouted, hoping his brother would hear him; but the oblivious boy just turned into one of the alleyways and disappeared.

"No! Spencer!" He shouted desperately, pushing past people. He darted into the busy street, causing several cars to put on their breaks and honk loudly. There was a policeman sitting in his car, parked outside one of the apartments Tucker had visited last night. The officer yelled at him, furious. Once he had made it to the other side of the street, the officer put his hand out, stopping him.

"What the hell are you doing, jaywalking like that? You're going to get yourself killed!"

"I'm—I'm sorry sir, but my brother just went over that way, I've been looking for him for weeks, _please, _sir, you have to let me by—"

The policeman shook his head, already writing up a ticket. "I'm sorry about your brother, son, but you can't just—" the policeman broke off, seemingly alarmed. "Are—are you bleeding? There's blood underneath your arm."

Tucker shook his head distractedly, craning his neck to try and see Spencer. "I have to get to him, sir," he said, "You don't understand."

He could see the officer motioning to another policeman situated further down the street. "Why don't you come with me, son?"

"No—NO! I have to find my brother!" He pushed past the officer, who called after him loudly. But he ignored the officer—it didn't matter. Spencer was all that mattered right now.

Morgan still couldn't find Reid. He was driving down the streets at top speed, scanning the crowds of people on the sidewalk—Reid couldn't have gone _that _far.

"If I was Reid," Morgan muttered to himself, "Where would I go?" Immediately, he took a right and pulled into the nearest coffee shop. He burst in the door, causing several of the customers to give him irritated looks.

"FBI. Have you seen this man?" Morgan demanded, flashing Reid's picture at the owner.

The owner looked very alarmed. "Not today," she said, "He used c-come in here a lot, though. Is there some kind of trouble?"

"Um—no, I'm just looking for him," Morgan muttered, "Sorry to bother you. If you see him, tell—tell him to call me." He handed her his card and exited the coffee shop, getting back into his car.

"Damnit, Reid, where are you?"

Hotch was staring at two more bodies.

"He's devolving," Prentiss remarked, "Kills are escalating, getting more violent; this one had witnesses. It's only a matter of time before we catch him, Hotch."

"But how many kids will get killed before we do?" Hotch muttered. His phone buzzed. "What?" he snapped, after glancing at the ID.

"I still can't find him, Hotch."

"You still can't—" Hotch broke off, biting his lip. He tried to calm himself down; yelling at Morgan wasn't going to solve anything. "How long has he been missing?"

"About an hour. Since I first called you."

"Did you check the coffee shop?" Hotch asked.

A strained laugh. "Yes."

"Well…damnit, Morgan, I don't know, just fucking find him!" Hotch snapped, losing control of his anger. Then he hung up.

Morgan stared at the phone in shocked silence. It wasn't like Hotch to lose his temper like that. "Why don't _you _trying babysitting Reid next time?" Morgan shouted at the phone, although he knew his superior could no longer hear him.

Meanwhile, Reid had decided to go home. He was never going to remember what he had started walking for.

The problem was, he was also extremely lost. In his attempt to get away from the crowds of people, he had ended up in a dirty alleyway, which was deserted save a homeless man who had fallen asleep behind a dumpster. The worst part was, Reid could swear he had walked by the same man about five times since he'd gotten lost. He kept forgetting which route he'd taken.

Without any better ideas, he prodded the sleeping man with his toe. The man started, let out a grunt, then appraised Spencer with a critical eye.

"Hello," Reid said, "I was wondering if you could give me directions back towards the center of town?"

The man stared at him in disbelief. "How about some money?" he asked eventually.

"Oh, I…I actually don't have any money, but…you can have my watch if you want." It then occurred to Reid that this man probably wouldn't give him the best of directions anyways, seeing as he was homeless and sleeping in an alleyway and all. He rubbed his head, wishing that this logic had occurred to him earlier.

The homeless man stared at him. "Alright," he said.

Reid took his watch off and dangled it in front of the man's nose. "Directions first," he said.

The man nodded eagerly. "At the end of the alley, go take a right, then you can, uh…" he frowned. "Uh, go straight, and uh, take a right, and uh, another right, then, um…go straight, then take a right." The man nodded.

Reid stared at him. "That's a square," he said.

The man rubbed his head. "Is it?"

Reid sighed, leaning against the wall. He could remember a time when he'd had the city map memorized; now he couldn't find his way out of an alleyway.

Life could be cruel sometimes.

Hotch's phone was buzzing again. "Hotchner," he replied, praying that it was Morgan telling him that he'd found Reid.

It wasn't. "Sir, there was a very suspicious young man who passed by here earlier. One of my officers told me he had blood under his arm. He ran into one of the back alleys; my officer tried to follow, but he lost him. Kid said he was following his 'brother.'"

Hotch's blood turned to ice in his veins. "How long ago was this?"

"Ten or so minutes."

"What did he look like?" Hotch demanded.

He could hear the sheriff conversing with one of his officers. "…yeah, he says he was tall, skinny, brown hair, nervous looking thing…runs damned fast though, apparently."

"That's definitely him," Hotch said, "Get officers patrolling every inch of those alleys. Don't let him get away."

"We'll try our best, sir," the sheriff said. Hotch hung up and immediately dialed Morgan's number.

"Hotch?" Morgan sounded panicked. "I still haven't found him, man I'm sor—"

"Morgan, get to the site of the last murder. I'll meet you there," Hotch said hurriedly, "They think they've found Tucker."

Reid had sunk down into a sitting position, positioned across from the homeless man; who was now fully awake and jabbering away about a certain government conspiracy involving poisoned milk and locusts.

"I used to work for the FBI," Reid said eventually, to put an end to the man's babbling.

"Oh, really?" he replied excitedly, "I used to work for NASA." Then he continued on a new spiel about his days as an astronaut. Reid put his head in his hands, trying to recall the city map that he'd memorized all those years ago…

That was when he heard someone new entering the alleyway. Reid looked up hopefully; maybe it was someone who could _actually _give him directions; or maybe it was even Derek Morgan, who would finally take him home.

But it wasn't. Reid froze in fear and astonishment as he stared at the person approaching him; the man stopped once he was towering over him, a huge grin spreading across his face.

"Hello, Spencer," Tucker said, "It took me forever to find you."

Reid just stared, speechless. He saw Tucker reach into his pocket and pull out a short, but _sharp _looking blade; there was dried blood running down the side.

Reid tried to cry out, but Tucker reached forward and put his hand on his mouth.

"Don't worry," he said, his friendly smile widening, "We'll be together soon."

_*Review it up people! (Please…)*_


	14. Chapter 14

_So, first off…I hope everyone enjoyed the virtual cookies. You should be glad that they were only virtual, since whenever I make real cookies it's a complete disaster. Anyways…I hope this chapter is enjoyed!_

Hotch practically leapt out of his car, slamming the door behind him. "What have you got?" he asked breathlessly.

The sheriff glanced up at him. "We haven't tracked him down yet," he said, "It's like a maze in those back alleys—nobody _goes _in there."

"Hotch!" Hotch turned around as he saw his teammate approaching. "Have they found Tucker yet? Have they found Reid?"

Hotch shook his head. "They have police agents searching," he said.

"I'm going, too," Morgan said, and before Hotch could stop him, he sprinted into the alleyway.

Reid tried to speak, to cry out; but Tucker's hand was still pressed against his mouth. The homeless man stared at them, dazed, for a split second; before scrambling to his feet and running out of the alleyway, stumbling twice along the way.

"Spencer," Tucker said sternly, "Do you have any idea how long it took me to find you?"

Reid just stared at him, his brain scrambling, trying to prepare his next move. Maybe the homeless man would get some sort of help. Then again, he hadn't been the most apt at giving directions—Reid had a mental image of the man running around and around in a square, and he felt the most bizarre urge to laugh.

Tucker moved again, and Reid tried to make a break for it; but Tucker caught his wrist, vice-like, and pressed a knife to his abdomen.

"Let go of me," Reid hissed.

Tucker pulled him closer, the knife digging further into Reid's skin. "But we're brothers," he insisted, "We have to stick together."

"Tucker," Reid's voice broke out of sheer terror. "You don't have to do this."

Tucker's breath was hot in his ear. "I'm sorry, Spencer," he whispered, "This is the only way."

Sharp, hot pain enveloped him; he let out a cry before he had even registered what had happened, sinking to the ground. He clutched at his side with shaking hands, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Tucker," he whimpered, "S-stop—"

His breath was cut off in a gasp as the knife came down again, this time into his stomach. He rolled over on the ground; it felt like he was drowning, choking on his own blood. He struggled to keep his eyes open; breaths came in desperate gasps.

He looked up at Tucker one last time; everything was going fuzzy, going white around the edges. Tucker's lips moved again, but he couldn't make sense of the words. He thought he heard a familiar voice—someone was sobbing; was it him? He couldn't make sense of it. It was nothing but a strange cacophony, devoid of meaning, fading in and out of perception. There was one final jolt of pain, then a loud shot that broke through the cacophony—someone was calling his name—and then it all fell into darkness.

"Tucker Davies," Morgan commanded, "Drop the knife now."

Morgan couldn't see what was going on, exactly; all he knew was that Tucker was standing, and Reid was on the ground, and Tucker was holding a knife inches from his throat.

"I'm sorry," Tucker said sadly, "I can't."

"Tucker, I do not want to shoot you. Put the knife on the ground and step away from Reid."

Tucker fixed his gaze on Morgan; his eyes looked tired, but happy. "You can shoot me if you want," he said, "I suppose it'll all be the same in the end. I was a good son, after all—wasn't I, Agent Morgan?"

"Step away from Reid," Morgan commanded. "He's your brother—you know you don't want to hurt him."

Tucker hesitated. He looked at Reid.

Then he smiled;

The knife came down;

And Morgan fired.

Tucker staggered briefly, dazed—then collapsed on the ground.

"We need a medic," Morgan hissed into his microphone, before sprinting over to Reid. He felt a jolt of panic when he saw the young man's condition—his eyes were half open, already glazing over; dark, pooling blood was seeping from his stomach.

"Fuck," Morgan muttered, "Fuck, Reid, don't do this to me. Come on." He pressed both hands to the boy's bleeding abdomen. "Come on, Reid, this isn't fair. This is so, fucking, unfair." Hot, angry tears were coursing down his face, the guilt growing heavier with every word. "I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry. Just please—please wake up—"

It was at this point that he became aware of hands pulling him away from his friend; he tried to fight them at first, adrenaline and fury pulsing through his veins—finally, he heard the words, "Agent Morgan, these are the paramedics, you need to step away from him now—"

He forced himself to move away, his entire body shaking with something that was either anger or terror or sorrow, or maybe all three—he leaned against the wall and watched, dazed, as the three paramedics worked feverishly over his friend. He moved his hand to his face; it was shaking.

It was also covered with blood.

_*…so yeah, things aren't going well! I apologize for the cliffhanger. But even if you're angry…review! ; ) I will bake virtual cupcakes this time.*_


	15. Chapter 15

_*Virtual cupcakes for everyone! Oh, and I apologize for any errors in this because I haven't proof read it*_

"Morgan." Morgan didn't respond. Hotch reached out and grabbed Morgan's shoulders, gently turning him away from Reid and the paramedics.

"Are you alright?" Hotch asked. Morgan swallowed nervously, then nodded.

"I'm riding with him," he said, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse.

Hotch stared at the scene as they lifted Reid up and carried him towards the ambulance; the boy was completely limp. Hotch's stomach dropped as he saw the amount of blood that he had left behind. Moments later, they lifted Tucker up, who left behind a slightly smaller pool of blood.

Morgan jogged after the stretcher, leaving Hotch alone in the alleyway. Trying not to breathe so as to avoid the smell of the blood, he started to follow after the ambulance; that was when he saw a watch lying on the ground.

He bent to pick it up. It _was_ Reid's—he wore it on the outside of his sweater every day. Hotch had never asked him why he did that—he supposed it wasn't important—but he pocketed the watch and vowed to give it back to Reid.

Hotch followed after the paramedics; by the time he had made it out of the alleyway, Reid and Morgan had already left in the first ambulance. Hotch pushed past the sheriff, catching up to the second ambulance just as it was about to leave.

"I'd like to ride with Tucker, if you don't mind," he told the paramedic, then hopped into the ambulance.

"How is he?" he demanded as they took off, sirens blaring.

"The bullet went straight through," the paramedic said, still hunched over the young man, "But it's not life threatening. He'll survive." Tucker was moaning and mumbling to himself, his eyes squeezed shut.

"What about the other man?" Hotch asked, gripping his seat tightly as they went over a bump.

"I'm not sure, sir," the paramedic said shortly.

Tucker opened his eyes; they were hazy and unfocused. "Spencer?" he asked, his voice quivering.

"Tucker, this is Agent Aaron Hotchner. You're going to be alright," Hotch said.

Tucker's breathing sped up. "Where's my brother?" he demanded, "Why isn't he with me? We were supposed to end up—end up together…"

"Reid is in another ambulance," Hotch said, "You stabbed him."

"I need to see him," Tucker said; Hotch heard his heart rate increasing, "Agent Hotchner, I need to see my brother!"

"Well, you can't—"

"Can you shut up?" the paramedic snapped, "You're upsetting him."

Hotch frowned, but stayed silent—that was the last thing he wanted to do. Tucker started fighting with the paramedic, who eventually gave him some type of anesthesia that caused him to pass out.

When they arrived at the hospital, Hotch followed Tucker and the paramedic into the hospital. He saw Morgan standing in the middle of the waiting room, his hands clenched as fists at his sides as he watched Tucker pass by.

"How's Reid?" Hotch demanded, going over to him. For a moment, Hotch was a afraid that Morgan had his jaw clenched so tightly that he wouldn't be able to open it—but after a tense pause, he spoke.

"He kept flat-lining," Morgan hissed, "The paramedic had to give him blood in the ambulance. I swear to god, if I got the chance to shoot that son of a bitch again I wouldn't—"

"Morgan," Hotch interrupted, "You're drawing attention to yourself. Sit down." Several of the nurses had begun to eye Morgan fearfully.

With a huff, Morgan lowered himself into one of the seats. "Damnit," he muttered. Hotch raised his eyebrows and sat down across from him.

"You're acting childish," Hotch informed him, "Tucker had suffered a psychotic break. He wasn't in his right mind."

Morgan stared silently ahead. Eventually, he spoke. "If I hadn't let Reid wander off—"

So that's what this was about. "It could have happened to any of us," Hotch said politely. Although he _personally_ believed that Morgan shouldhave done a better job watching Reid, it was no use blaming him now. Hotch glanced at his watch.

"Are you going to call the rest of the team?" Morgan asked dully.

Hotch shook his head. "I have to call Garcia," he said, "But the rest of them can wait till morning. Besides, we don't know yet whether or not Reid will…" he trailed off, not wanting to upset Morgan any more than he already was.

They waited there for what seemed like a lifetime, neither of them speaking. Finally, once it was well past midnight and Hotch was about to fall asleep in his seat, a nurse reemerged.

"Is there an Aaron Hotchner here?" she asked.

Hotch jumped up immediately. "Yes," he said. The doctor approached him.

"He's going to live," she said, "But if the stab wound had been a half inch to the right in would have punctured a major artery—he was lucky."

Hotch felt relief seeping into every bone in his body; he glanced at Morgan, who had a gigantic smile stretched across his face.

"Is he awake?" Hotch asked.

"Not yet," she replied, "We gave him a lot of painkillers."

Hotch was too relived to be annoyed about that. "Can we go see him?" he asked.

She nodded. "One of you," she replied.

"Morgan, you go," Hotch told the younger man. Morgan nodded vigorously and got to his feet.

"He's in room 207," she informed him, and seconds later he was gone.

"Do you have Tucker Davies as a patient?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Dr. Werner has him," she said.

"I'm like to talk to him, please," Hotch said, and with a nod she pointed towards a doctor at the far end of the room. When Hotch recognized Reid's doctor from last time, he wanted to groan aloud.

"You again?" the doctor said, raising his eyebrows. "What do you want?"

"Tucker Davies," Hotch muttered.

"Oh, you can't see him right now," Dr. Werner said dismissively.

"Why not?" Hotch demanded. "The paramedic said he'd recover."

"Yes, he's in recovery now. You still can't see him. I don't want you to upset him." Then the doctor turned back to his paperwork.

"Did you know that he stabbed six teenage boys to death?" Hotch asked suddenly.

The doctor froze. "I k-knew he was under arrest," he muttered.

Hotch showed him his badge. "I'd like to see him." The doctor nodded mutely, and Hotch smirked as he was led into Tucker's room—technically, the fact that he was an FBI agent didn't give him access to whichever patient he wanted—but the doctor seemed too intimidated to care.

Tucker was awake, to Hotch's surprise; the anesthetic he'd been given earlier had apparently worn off.

"Agent Hotchner?" he muttered, as Hotch entered the room.

Hotch sat down next to his bed. "Feeling better?" he asked.

Tucker looked around anxiously. "Why am I handcuffed?" he asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "You tried to kill Spencer Reid." Not to mention stabbing six teenage boys and abducting ten other men.

Tucker let out a pitiful whimper; he sounded frightened, childlike. "What's going to happen to me?" he asked. "Am I g-going to be p-punished?"

Hotch shook his head; he reached out and put a hand on the young man's arm. "No one is going to hurt you again," he promised.

Morgan sat with his head in his hands, his foot bouncing up and down in nervous anticipation. Every few seconds, he would glance at Reid's limp form—the boy was so pale and so still that Morgan had an irrational fear that the doctors were lying to him, and that he really _was _dead after all.

Waiting in here was almost as bad as the waiting room—and where was Hotch? _Probably with Tucker, _he thought bitterly, answering his own question. Hotch seemed to think that he deserved some kind of pity.

Morgan lifted his head up as Reid's doctor came in. "When is he going to wake up?" Morgan demanded angrily.

"Anytime, now," she said. "We lessened the dosage of morphine a half hour ago. It should be almost completely out of his system." She checked the stab wounds and the heart monitor and exited the room, leaving Morgan alone with Reid.

Morgan had a sudden desire to get to his feet and shake his friend awake—but he restrained himself. Instead, he reached forward and took Reid's hand in his. He glanced out the door to make sure no one was coming in—if Hotch or Garcia or Rossi saw him like this, he'd never hear the end of it.

"Reid," he muttered, "I'm sorry I let you wander off. I was supposed to keep track of you and keep you safe, but the second I looked away, you…" he trailed off, realizing that he was not phrasing his apology very well.

"S'okay…" the response was so soft that Morgan was sure he had imagined it.

"Reid?" he asked eagerly, letting go of the boy's hand and getting to his feet.

"I hate your music…" Reid mumbled, not opening his eyes.

"What?" Morgan asked, wondering if Reid was having some sort of dream. However, moments later Reid opened his eyes.

"Your music," he muttered, "It sucks."

Morgan laughed with relief, at once realizing what he was talking about. "Oh," he said, "Well, sorry about that. I guess I won't make that mistake again."

Reid grinned groggily. "I should hope not," he muttered. There was a silence. "Is Tucker okay?" he asked suddenly. "I heard someone get shot…"

Morgan swallowed. "I shot him," he said, "But he'll live." They both turned around as they heard someone—Hotch enter the room.

"How are you feeling?" Hotch asked immediately.

Reid shrugged. "A bit like I've been stabbed twice, then given a bunch of morphine."

Hotch allowed a small smile to grace his features. The Morgan saw Hotch reach into his pocket and pull out a watch.

"This is yours," he said, "I think you dropped it."

Reid grinned, then laughed. "I was trying to use it to bribe a homeless man."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "You what?"

A peculiar look came over Reid's face; then he yawned. "I was…lost…then, I wanted to get some directions…" he yawned again. "I'm going to pass out," he muttered; he seemed suddenly exhausted from the small encounter.

"No problem, Reid," Hotch said, "You've kind of had a long day."

And so, the two of them stood there and watched as Reid once again drifted into a peaceful sleep.

_*Ok! So it's almost over, but I'm going to write an epilogue "one year later" type of thing. Reviews would make me super duper happy!*_


	16. Chapter 16

_So, I apologize for how long it took for me to update this. I had no power or internet for three days as a result of the stupid random October blizzard. Anyways, this is an epilogue that takes place 1 year after Reid got stabbed._

_One Year Later_

Reid rubbed his forehead, annoyed—he had taken three ibuprofen and drunk three cups of coffee and his stupid headache _still _hadn't gone away. He gritted his teeth—this was not what he needed right now.

"Come in, Dr. Reid."

Reid opened the door, plastering a smile onto his face. _This should be easy,_ he thought to himself, _just don't say anything stupid._

"Have a seat." Reid glanced at her name-plate—Dr. Cynthia Edwards. He sat down opposite from her.

"Good morning, Dr. Edwards," he said, holding out a hand. She shook it.

"It's nice to meet you," she said.

"Likewise."

She smiled. "I suppose you're aware of how these work?"

Reid laughed. "Generally."

"Well, let's get started, then," she said, taking out a clipboard. "So. A year ago you suffered from retrograde amnesia as a result of electrical torture and blunt force trauma to the head."

Reid nodded. "Correct."

"Do you ever wake up in the morning and forget who you are?" she asked.

"It used to happen in the weeks following my abduction, but it doesn't happen anymore," Reid lied, keeping the easy smile fixed on his face and looking directly into her eyes. The truth was, it took him two or three minutes every morning to remember his name.

"That's good," she said, seeming reasonably convinced. "I see that your unit chief did a psychiatric evaluation, as well."

"That's right," Reid said, "He cleared me for duty."

"No signs of PTSD, apparently," she said, "That's good."

Reid just nodded.

"And you seem to have done…um, _very _well on the IQ test." Her eyes widened.

"187?" he prompted.

"Um," she said, "189, actually."

Reid felt his grin widen. Interesting. That was two points higher than last time. Maybe he was getting smarter with age.

"He wrote here about a marked change in disposition," she continued, "What's your opinion of that?"

Reid froze. _Damnit, Hotch,_ he thought to himself. These people would look for any excuse not to allow him back into the bureau. His unit chief should have known better.

"Dr. Reid?" she prompted, beginning to look concerned.

He cleared his throat. "The experience has certainly changed me," he said, "As would be expected. I see things differently now. But I wouldn't call it a 'marked change in disposition.' And it certainly doesn't affect my ability to do my job."

She smiled again. "No one said that it would, Dr. Reid," she replied.

He relaxed slightly. Maybe he was being too paranoid; it wasn't like he was going to _fail _the psychological evaluation. He'd helped _write _the psychological evaluation.

"I see here that your mother passed away six months ago," she said. "How did you handle that?"

"It was difficult, but I got through it," Reid said curtly. "She had been sick for awhile."

Dr. Edwards nodded. "She was a paranoid schizophrenic?"

"That's right."

"I hate to ask this, Dr. Reid," she said, "But have you ever noticed any signs of—"

"No," Reid said shortly, cutting her off. She looked surprised. "I'm sorry," he said, realizing that he had been more aggressive than necessary, "But I'm practically certain that I won't inherit it. I'm past the age of onset and I've never had any symptoms before." His hand moved instinctively towards his head—where he still had a crippling migraine—but he forced himself to bring it back down, folding his hands in his lap.

"Alright, then," she said, giving him another smile. "Well, Dr. Reid, it seems as if your unit chief has done most of the work for me—and I think I'm inclined to agree with his assessment. You can start at the BAU in a week's time."

Reid felt a rush of jubilation swell up inside him—he had a sudden urge to get up and hug the doctor, but he restrained himself.

_Now get out of the office before you mess it up!_

Reid got to his feet. "Thank you, Dr. Edwards," he said, shaking her hand.

"It was nice meeting you, Spencer. Have a good night."

He nodded vigorously, then opened the door and closed it quickly behind him. He let out a sigh of relief, slouching against the wall.

That had been surprisingly easy.

As he got into his car, he realized that Dr. Edwards probably wouldn't have let him off so easily if she knew where he was going now.

Shrugging it off, he fastened his seatbelt, put on his sunglasses, and backed out of the parking lot. He pulled into McDonald's, buying two hamburgers, two large fries, and two sodas. He wondered briefly if _Hotch _would have passed him if he knew where he was going. If he knew where he went every night.

_Hotch would understand, _he thought to himself.

_Then why didn't you tell him?_ A voice inside his head popped up. He brushed it away. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, it was already dark.

Reid grabbed the food and hurried towards the illuminated doors of the hospital—he didn't like walking alone in the dark. He approached the front desk.

"Hi, Dr. Reid," Kelly said. "Go ahead up. I'll put your name on the visitors list."

"Thanks," he said, grinning at Kelly, then proceeded down the hallway and up the stairs. He poked his head into room 105—the person sitting there gave him a small smile.

"Hi, Spencer."

"Hey, Tucker," he said, "Where's your nurse?"

"Went outside," he muttered. He was eyeing the bag in Reid's hands. "You brought food?"

"Yep." Reid sat down and handed Tucker both hamburgers, both packages of French fries, and the soda—he took the other soda for himself and sat down on the other side of the room.

"When was the last time you ate?" Reid demanded, as Tucker tore ravenously into the first hamburger.

"Areghamayf," Tucker said through a mouthful of hamburger.

"What?" Reid demanded.

Tucker swallowed. "Yesterday," he said.

"You mean yesterday, when I brought you food from McDonalds?"

Tucker nodded.

Reid sighed. "Tucker, not only is it unhealthy to live on a strictly McDonalds diet—"

"I don't _like _the food here. It tastes like mush."

Reid gestured towards the McDonalds food; Tucker was already on his second hamburger. "Refusing to eat anything but food from McDonalds is—"

"I like Dunkin Donuts, too."

Reid put his face in his hands. "That's even worse," he said, "And aren't they supposed to make sure you're eating?"

Tucker shrugged. "I stuff it in the napkin. They don't notice. They're too stupid." He froze. "Don't tell them," he pleaded.

"I'm not going to _tell _them, Tucker," Reid muttered. Tucker looked appeased and took a handful of fries. "Keep at it like that, and you're going to throw up," he warned. Tucker shrugged, looking unperturbed.

"I'll be OK," he said. Just then, a nurse came in.

"Oh good, you're eating something," she said jokingly. Tucker ignored her and continued munching on the fries. "He's lost twenty pounds since he came in here," she told Reid, "And he was _already_ too skinny."

"He doesn't like the food much," Reid informed her.

"I don't like _this place _much," Tucker muttered.

The nurse kept the plastic smile glued to her face and put three pills down on Tucker's counter.

"Ew," Tucker said.

"I have to watch you take them, Tucker," she said.

Reluctantly, Tucker took a large swig of soda and put the pills in his mouth. He swallowed.

"There you go," the nurse said, smiling and exiting the room. Seconds later, Tucker turned around and coughed them up into the sink.

"Tucker…" Reid admonished him.

"They make me feel all wrong," he said. "This whole place makes me feel wrong. I hate it." He sat back down on the bed and looked like he was about to cry.

Again.

"It's not so bad," Reid said. "I heard you beat everyone at checkers today."

Tucker shot him a disbelieving look.

"Stop making me feel guilty," Reid said.

Tucker stared at the floor. "They're never going to let me out."

Reid didn't reply.

"How would you feel if it was you?" Tucker asked.

Reid felt an immeasurable amount of guilt twist in his stomach.

"They have some on the nurse's table," Tucker whispered, "It'll look like I took them myself. No one will—"

"Goodnight, Tucker," Reid said, getting to his feet. His hands were shaking. He grabbed his bag and hurried out of the hospital.

_What if it had been you?_

Tucker's voice echoed through his head all the way home. What if _he _had to spend the rest of his life in one of those places? The very thought made him shudder. It _could _have been him.

He slept badly, the headache not doing much to help calm him down. In the morning, he called Morgan; he needed to talk to a _normal _person.

"Hey, pretty boy. So looks like we'll be seeing you in a week's time."

Reid felt a grin spreading across his face. "How'd you find out?"

"Hotch."

Reid frowned. Right. "Well, I can't say it was difficult to pass an examination that I helped write."

Morgan laughed. "I can imagine. Anyways, I—" he broke off. "Right, sorry Hotch," he called. "Sorry, kid, I gotta go. Hotch is—al_right, _I'm coming!"

Reid muttered a goodbye, and seconds later Morgan was gone.

Reid spent the rest of the day reading, trying to distract himself from his wandering thoughts. He thought about his mother—had she been as miserable as Tucker? More? Less?

_That was different, _he thought to himself, _she had a mental disease. Tucker is better now._

But he's still never going to leave.

Reid massaged his head; headache was back. Maybe it had never left. He couldn't remember.

Eventually, it got dark. Reid got to his feet. He drove to McDonalds. Bought two hamburgers, two large French Fries, and two sodas. Then he went to CVS; it was practically empty. He pocketed a bottle of Nembutal and bought a bag of chips.

He would do it. For Tucker. He would do for Tucker what the _old _him; the _old _Spencer Reid; would have been too weak to do. He emptied the bottle into the McDonald's bag.

He walked into the hospital and said hello to Kelly. Then he went into Tucker's room.

"I brought you something," Reid said, setting the bag down next to Tucker. Tucker was staring despondently at the floor.

"Thanks, I guess," he mumbled eventually. He didn't move towards the bag.

"No, Tucker," Reid muttered, "I mean, I got you—_something."_

Tucker's eyes widened. He stared at the bag.

"You mean—"

"Yes," Reid hissed. "No need to publicize it."

Tucker fixed him with a stare of admiration and gratitude. "You're the best brother I could have asked for," he whispered.

Reid nodded. "I know."

Then he left.

_One week later._

Reid smiled at the pile of paperwork in front of him—for once, it was almost welcoming.

_It's been a whole year,_ he thought to himself, _A whole, fucking, stupid year._ What a waste of time.

It didn't matter now. He reached for the first file, ready to begin.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"So. How's it feel to be back?" Morgan asked, his lips stretched wide to reveal a very white set of teeth.

Reid thought about it. "Feels normal," he said eventually, "A good normal."

Morgan laughed and clapped him on the back. "Good," he said. "You'd better get used to it, because I slipped half of my pile into yours before you got here."

Reid rolled his eyes as Morgan walked away, chuckling to himself. The rest of the day flew by; it was a flurry of paperwork and people welcoming him back and taking ibuprofen to make the headache disappear. Finally, when almost everyone else had left, Hotch called him into his office.

Reid sat down across from his boss; he was happy despite the headache. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Reid asked.

Hotch didn't look nearly as happy as Reid. "Yes," he said. "I'd like to talk to you about Tucker."

Reid frowned. "What about Tucker?"

Hotch cleared his throat. "He committed suicide a week ago. He overdosed on a sleeping pill called Nembutal. The nurses said he somehow got access to an entire bottle's worth."

"Oh," Reid said, unsure what the appropriate reaction should be. "That's terrible," he said eventually.

Hotch nodded, his eyes fixated on the young agent. They sat there in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, Hotch spoke.

"That's exactly how your mother died six months ago."

Reid kept eye contact with Hotch, trying hard not to blink. "I know," he said.

Hotch just stared at him.

"They really need to keep that stuff under better supervision," Reid said.

Hotch continued to stare. Reid wondered what he was thinking about; maybe he was rethinking his psychological evaluation.

"Your mother wasn't suicidal," he said.

"I know," Reid said quickly, "It's ironic, isn't it? She was always worried about people poisoning her drinks. I'm pretty sure it was just a mistake, though. She had access to as many as she wanted. She probably forgot how many she'd taken. Actually, 88.4 % of drug overdoses are said to be accidents."

Hotch didn't say anything. Reid shifted in his seat, extremely uncomfortable.

"You're different," Hotch said suddenly.

Reid froze. "Excuse me?"

Hotch just shook his head, as if dismissing his earlier statement.

"Is that all, sir?" Reid asked, desperate to be out of the office. He fiddled nervously with his watch, which he was wearing on the outside of his sweater.

Hotch stared at him for a long time—Reid stayed silent. Finally, his boss nodded. "You can go."

"Thanks, sir," Reid said. Then he got to his feet, put his sunglasses on, and hurried out of the office.

_THE END_

_* Reviews are super fantastically appreciated and would make me a very happy person : ) Tell me what you thought of the end, oh and thanks for reading!*_


	17. Chapter 17

AUTHOR'S NOTE

So I'm not sure if I'm allowed to do this but it seems like everyone else does it, so whatever. I just wanted to let anyone who's interested know that I'm writing a sequel to this story called "Duplicity." I was going to have this be the end but "mercy killing Reid" is just too much fun.

Oh, and I just wanted to take this opportunity to once again say thank you to anyone who left a review for this story! I send you virtual ice cream and candy and cookies and cupcakes (and such.)


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